


Pack up the Moon

by Ballofconfusion



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, And other funnn mental health stuff, Angst, But also, Child Neglect, F/M, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Or trying to, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Poverty, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Emotionally Constipated, Tony does as well. Kinda., Whump, set between ironman 3 and civil war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballofconfusion/pseuds/Ballofconfusion
Summary: The story began with a kid in Tony Stark’s driveway. No, sorry, it began with a kid inside the trash can in Tony Stark’s driveway.Tony struggled against his seat belt in an awkward half-turn, trying to keep an eye on the kid-sized legs that were sticking out of his trash can. Behind him, the garage gate beeped and opened and, vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open, he watched the last hem of the kid’s worn-out jeans disappear from his line of sight.Tony swallowed, stared dumbly into the glaring, artificial light of the garage, blinked and hit the brakes. For four minutes and fifty-six seconds he sat in his car, breathed in gasoline and fumes, and wondered if he had finally lost his mind.---In which Peter Parker keeps the bad kind of secret and Tony Stark does not get what he wants.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the poem "Stop All the Clocks" by W. H. Auden. Go, check it out. It's brilliant! 
> 
> Please note that I'm not a native speaker, so there will be mistakes in this story. Point them out to me and I'll fix them. If you'd like to beta read the story, that would also be very welcome. 
> 
> CW: alcoholism, child neglect, poverty, hunger, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, other mental difficulties, strong language, some descriptions of violence and allusions to sex. Please be aware of these before you start the story and take care of yourself! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The story began with a kid in Tony Stark’s driveway. No, sorry, it began with a kid inside the trash can in Tony Stark’s driveway.

Tony stared at the kid as his car rolled past. Actually, he stared at a pair of legs and feet in baggy jeans and colorful, beat-up sneakers, sticking out of his trashcan. Perhaps, on a different day and in a different situation, Tony would have made an effort to school his face into a less crackbrained expression, but he felt that, right now, with a kid in his trashcan, he had every right to be a bit flabbergasted.

He struggled against his seat belt in an awkward half-turn, trying keep an eye on the kid in the trashcan for as long as possible. Behind him, the garage gate beeped and opened and, vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open, he watched the last hem of the kid’s worn-out jeans disappear from his line of sight.

Tony swallowed, turned around and stared dumbly into the glaring, artificial light of his garage. He breathed in the familiar stale air, blinked and hit the brakes. _What the fuck_. He put the car into reverse. The garage gate beeped and opened and the car slowly rolled backwards. Tony craned his neck, squinted against the sunlight and tried to catch a glimpse of those shabby sneakers. The car pulled past the trashcan. Tony blinked. _What the fuck_.

The can was securely shut and, notably, did not hold a child of any sort. Tony eyed it suspiciously, half expecting a surprise mugging or HYDRA raid or at least – and he turned around to scrutinize the nearby hedge – a hidden camera. His fingers were itching for the little button on his wheel, the one that would immediately call a suit to him, but there was no HYDRA, no camera, no danger, no child and no need.

Tony sighed and changed into first gear. The gate opened and he rolled back into the garage. Artificial light and stale air filled the car. Tony shook his head. He hit the brakes. _What the fuck_.

For four minutes and fifty-six seconds he sat in his car, breathed in gasoline and fumes, and contemplated whether he had finally lost his mind. Perhaps - and was it troubling that he didn’t find the thought particularly unreasonable? - this was the first day of a downward spiral – seeing things, believing the things were actually there and finally marrying his suit or running naked through the city in a crazed frenzy. The little slimeballs at the Daily Bugle would have a field day. It wasn’t difficult to imagine. ‘Tony Stark: Crazy Exhibitionist’ or ‘Tony Stark Chooses Suit Over Girlfriend’ or, if worse came to worse, ‘Cross-National Killing Spree: Tony Stark Blows up the White House’ or –

Or perhaps the kid had just bolted when they had spotted Tony. This was a high-risk area for dumpster divers, after all. Perhaps it hadn’t even been a kid. Perhaps it had been the regular overenthusiastic adult fan or perhaps, and this was by far Tony’s favorite theory, it hadn’t even been a human. It could have been a disfigured raccoon for all he knew. Tony smiled tightly to himself and nodded. He settled for the raccoon.

\---

Tony was looking out of the window. It wasn't something he did very often – there was not a lot to see, after all – but recently the mundaneness had gained newfound appeal. He stared at the glowing city below him and it stared back at him with its million twinkling eyes. Solemnly, he raised his current cup of coffee, the fifth one of the day; a silent toast to New York, a _g_ _ood for you_ , a _props for still being here_.

He didn’t have to try hard to think back to that day, could still see the Chitauri ships hovering over the city and the black hole opening up in the sky. He could still remember the _s_ _o, this is it_ when he had clung to that bomb, when he had flown high and then fallen, fallen, fallen out of the sky. He could still see the burning cars and taste the screams on his tongue, bitter and unforgiving and –

“Stop thinking so much.” Pepper's arms encircled him from behind.

He sighed. “Yeah, that’s not my strong suit.”

Pepper pressed her nose into the crook of his neck. “You admitting to a weakness? This calls for champagne.”

Tony turned around and pulled her close. She was still wearing her business attire and there was something sour in the sweetness of her smell. “No weakness. Just a symptom of brilliance,” he retorted and, he thought distantly, wasn’t that true?

He felt Pepper smile against his shirt. “No champagne then.”

He hummed and pulled away to peer into her face. She looked tired. “Long day?” he asked.

She shot him an amused smile. “What did you expect? One of us is running a business, you know?”

“Always the tease, Miss Potts,” Tony murmured, but he lifted a hand to caress the dark circles under her eyes, covered by a layer of concealer.

“You’re going to mess up my look,” Pepper whispered. She placed a soft kiss on his jaw.

“It will be my pleasure,” he whispered back.

Their lips met and Tony didn’t think he’d ever get used to it – not to the softness of her lips, not to the blue of her eyes, not to how she _felt_.

Pepper worked her way down his neck, slowly and softly. He raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you had a long day. Isn’t it time for you to go bed, Ms. Potts?”

She looked up, her cheeks flushed and her stern ponytail just the slightest bit dishevelled. “I think I can stay awake for another 12 seconds, Mr. Stark,” she said and smirked. There was a mischievous glint in her blue eyes and, God, that _color_. Never ever would Tony get used to it.

\---

Afterwards, they were lying in bed, dozing off. Pepper was pressed into Tony’s side, smooth and warm and so _alive_. He smiled down at her, marvelled at her every feature, the curve of her jaw, the little crook of her nose. She looked so young without that tension in her muscles.

Tony ran his fingertips over her cheeks, imagined, _remembered_ the red glow under her skin, building up in her chest and then he saw her fall and he knew, he _knew_ – But no, she was here, she was alive, so alive, and she was with him. With _him_. A shudder ran down Tony’s spine.

Carefully, he tried to wriggle out of the embrace. Pepper’s arm tightened around him. “You’re thinking again. I told you to stop,” she whispered.

Tony placed a kiss on her brow. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are,” he whispered back and tried to put as much tacky cheesiness into his words as possible.

Pepper pulled a face and opened her eyes to squint at him suspiciously. “Not beautiful enough to keep you in bed, apparently.”

He sat up. “You know how it is. Project time.”

Pepper let go of him and scrunched her nose. “Sometimes I wish I was one of your projects. You spend so much time with them.”

Tony picked up his underwear and jeans from where he had discarded them on the carpet. “You’re my very favorite project,” he said, pulled up his underwear and proceeded to search for the leg opening in his jeans.

“Am I now?” Pepper asked, sounding amused. “I’m not sure if I should be happy or offended.”

“You never are.” He pressed another quick kiss to her temple before turning his attention back to the jeans that were currently hanging at his knees.

“You are so graceful,” Pepper chuckled.

She threw his t-shirt at him. He caught it and slipped it on, but not without giving her a dirty look. “You didn’t have any complaints just now,” he said, nodding at the bed. Pepper snorted.

“Get out,” she said, “but make sure to come back sometime before 4am, alright?”

Tony reached out to pet her cheek. “No promises." 

Just as he was about to slip out of the door, she called after him. “Tony?”

He turned around. She was leaning against the headboard. The tension had returned to her shoulders. “What were you thinking about?”

Tony stilled, his hand frozen on the door handle. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about just now or about before, back in the living room in front of the window, and he wasn’t sure if it mattered. He hesitated, unsure what to say, uncomfortable under her piercing and not at all sleepy gaze.

“I – “, he began and paused. “Could we raise our donation to the Covenant House or the Salvation Army or whatever it was?” he asked, surprising both himself and Pepper, who cocked her head and eyed him curiously.

“I don’t see why not,” she said finally and then, a heartbeat later, “Why?” Tony thought of the kid in the trashcan and the black hole in New York’s sky and the fire under Pepper’s skin.

“Just to be safe,” he said.

Pepper’s gaze softened. “Tony?” she asked. “Yeah?” His lips were dry. She stared at him motionlessly for a moment longer. Then, she smiled. “You are wearing your t-shirt inside out.”

\---

The second time it happened, Tony wasn’t alone and he wasn’t driving. Happy was. Actually, it looked more as though Happy was trying to choke the steering wheel to death. His knuckles were white and his jaw was set in steely determination. Tony didn’t dare look at him for more than two seconds. Instead, he pretended to be doing something terribly important on his phone, sneaking just the occasional side glance.

The silent treatment he was receiving was more than deserved. Tony understood that, even though he himself was more the snapping and insulting kind of guy. Perhaps that, he mused, and dared to look at Happy for just a bit longer, was exactly the problem.

He cleared his throat. Happy didn’t seem to notice. The apology was on tip of Tony's tongue, half-formed and ready to go. _Just do it,_ a tiny voice whispered at the back of his mind. _Other people do it all the time_. But he wasn’t other people, was he? He cleared his throat again. Happy’s right eye twitched.

 _I’m sorry_. No, _God_ , no. Too simple, way too simple. What had Jarvis always said? “Sorry means nothing if you don’t know what you’re sorry for.” A different approach, then. _I shouldn’t have snapped at you? I didn’t mean to snap at you? I didn’t want to snap at you?_ But he had meant it and he had wanted it. Just because the anger had been misdirected, didn’t mean it hadn’t been real. In fact, Tony could still feel it in his chest and, now that he was thinking about it, Happy _had_ been late and, traffic be damned, Tony _had_ waited ten long minutes in the pouring rain. Could Tony have been half-wrong and, if he had been half-wrong, was it still worth an apology?

He stifled a frustrated groan and turned the words over on his tongue. What if he just changed the topic, sprinkled in a bit of sarcasm? Perhaps then everything would go back to normal. He was almost certain it would. Happy had, after all, survived far worse and –

“What the fuck?” Happy grunted and hit the brakes.

Tony whipped his head around, half expecting to be thrown out of the car (oh, would that make the headlines), but Happy wasn’t even looking at him. Tony followed his gaze with some hesitation because they had just pulled into the driveway and he really didn’t have it in him today to deal with an attack right on his doorstep. There was no attack, though, and no herd of paparazzi, not even a measly car crash. It was just the kid in the trash can. _What the fuck_ , indeed.

Tony was sure it was the same kid; the shabby outfit was unmistakable. He gave the kid a quick once-over – way easier now that they, or rather _he_ , Tony presumed, was bent over the trashcan, instead of being buried in it. Yes, a boy, probably, and around, what, thirteen years old? Twelve? Sixteen? Nine? Tony squinted. It was hard to tell with these things.

Just as he was about to say something, anything, to diffuse the tension, the kid spun around and, no, definitely not sixteen yet. The kid’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘O’ and he stared at the car with wide, brown eyes. More specifically, he stared at Tony who lifted his sunglasses in order to do the boy’s shocked expression justice and stare back properly. There was a wild glimmer in the kid’s eyes, a violent tremor in his legs.

Tony was sure he was going to bolt and so, apparently, was Happy, who folded himself out of the car with a pained huff. The kid’s eyes flickered back and forth, before finally fixating on Happy. Apparently, Happy was, not incorrectly, recognized as the bigger threat.

Happy took a step towards the kid. The kid took a step back, effectively bumping into the open trashcan behind him. Tony had half a mind to step out of the car himself and deescalate the situation before Happy could start yelling about trespassing and private property, but he stopped dead in his tracks when Happy fumbled for something in his pockets. The hysterical part of Tony’s brain wondered if Happy had a gun hidden in there and if he actually intended to point it at a child. The kid seemed to think the same if the sharp inhale and the color draining from his face were anything to go by. On second thought, stopping dead in his tracks might have been the wrong move.

Tony grabbed the door handle and was already halfway out of the car when Happy found what he was looking for and pulled out, _and pulled out_ – Tony blinked. It wasn’t a gun, or a taser or a fucking walkie talkie, but a cereal bar; a bit squished, yes, and of undetermined age but perfectly harmless nonetheless. For a moment, all three of them stared at the bar in mild confusion and perhaps it would have gone on like this forever, had Happy not cleared his throat authoritatively.

He threw the bar at the kid and the kid caught it. For a long second, nobody moved. Then, with nothing but a curt nod in Happy’s direction, the kid pushed past them, ran down the main street and disappeared behind a corner. The sound of his sneakers slapping against the concrete had long faded in the distance when Tony regained control over his brain.

With a shake of his head, a heavy sigh and an utter lack of grace, he collapsed back into the car. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the open trashcan. _What the fuck_. The driver’s door opened and Happy fell into the seat next to him. For a while neither of them said a word and then, as though a spell had broken, they started talking at the same time.

“Do you want me to tell security and make sure-“

“Why exactly did you give him-“

They trailed off and stared at each other.

“No, he’s just a kid,” said Tony.

“Because he’s just a kid,” said Happy.

They smiled tightly, in silent understanding. The engine started with a soft whine and the garage gate opened. Tony threw one last glance at the open trashcan before artificial light and stale air took over.

\---

“What do you mean ‘7685 potential matches’?” Tony snapped.

“I love to repeat myself for you, sir,” Jarvis replied smoothly. “I have 7685 potential matches for the gender, physique, motion patterns-“

Tony interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah, rhetorical question – jeez, we need to work on that.”

He squinted at the grainy recording in front of him, “Jarvis, zoom in.”

“Maximum optical zoom has been reached and cannot be exceeded.”

Tony groaned. The black and white human-shaped blob on the screen was truly unidentifiable. “Can you increase the resolution?”

“Of course.”

Tony’s heart danced with joy. He stared at the recording expectantly. Nothing happened. He squinted. It was clearer, wasn’t it? The edges of the kid’s head weren’t quite as blurry anymore and, if Tony strained his eyes, he could detect something on the kid’s face that looked vaguely like a nose.

“Jarvis,” Tony asked nonetheless, just to be sure, “have you increased the resolution?”

“I appreciate your faith in me, sir. Maximum display resolution has indeed been reached.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Tony muttered.

“While I am flattered, sir, I do not think –“

Tony raised his hands in desperation, “Jarvis, sweetheart, I’m begging you to stop talking.”

Jarvis did and Tony was left to stare at the grainy and utterly useless recording in silence. “7685 potential matches, right?” There was no reply. Tony rubbed his face with a deep sigh. Perhaps Pepper was right and he really did need more sleep. “Jarvis, you had 7685 possible matches, right?” he repeated and, when Jarvis still showed no sign of life – they needed to work on that, too – he added, “Please answer.”

“7685 matches are correct. Would you like for me to list them?”

 _Smug bastard_. Tony considered his options. He could go through them, one by one, and compare 7685 ID pictures to his inaccurate and feeble human memory, or – “Jarvis, what kind of crappy cameras are we using for security?”

“Dahla Industries, ‘Seeing Eye’, Model DH-IPC-HFW32 on the outer walls of the tower. The body worn cameras are divided into three categories –“

“Yeah, okay,” Tony interrupted. “It’s time for an update, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, sir."

“Good.” Tony eyed the grainy recording reproachfully. “Get the best stuff. Stark Industries. No idea why we went off-brand in the first place.” He stopped the video with a wave of his hand. A thought occurred to him. “And Jarvis, keep an eye on the main driveway. Tell me if you see our guy and, ah,“ he sighed, “focus on the trash cans.”

“Noted, sir.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. This called for a drink, a big one and a strong one. In that order. He was on his way to the kitchen, his fingers itching with anticipation – Whisky? Gin? Rum? Wine? – when Jarvis spoke up once more.

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Captain Steve Rogers.”

Tony swayed and stopped. _Ignore_ , an incorporeal voice whispered into his ear.

Pepper was on a business trip. He had the lab to himself. He had the _drink_ to himself. This could be a night of undisturbed and jolly tinkering with good old AC/DC or Black Sabbath blasting in the background. This could be good, so ignore, ignore, _ignore_. The words were fully formed, waiting on his tongue and he almost said them. He _wanted_ to say them, but – But.

“Accept call,” he said with a wistful glance at the bar. “Heyo, Cap.” He poured as much breezy arrogance into his voice as he could muster and he hoped it showed. This was not the right moment or day or, hell, the right _year_.

“Tony,” Steve said curtly and, yes, Tony noted with a little satisfied smirk, the arrogance had shown.

"Tony, we found another one. We found another nest. Here. In New York.”

The itching anticipation returned to Tony’s fingers.

\---

“Three to your left, sir.”

“Yep, got my eye on them.” He lifted his hand, aimed, fired, and then there was the smell of burned flesh and smoke; nothing to have his eye on anymore.

“Counting twelve, but could be more. I could really do with some help here,” came Rhodey’s tinny voice through the speakers in Tony’s helmet.

“Coming to get you, honey bear,” Tony replied, smugly, and, oh, would he. “Jarvis, locate.” Directions appeared on the screen. Tony smirked. The thrusters roared to life. He was hovering over the ground and then – then, he was flying.

He crashed through a small group of HYDRA agents, huddled together in a tight circle, not for strategic reasons, but because they were absolutely shitting their pants. Tony watched them crumble to the ground. Romanoff made a crude gesture in his direction, for stealing her targets presumably, but he was already gone, too fast to give a retort. So _fast._ He saw Hulk breaking through enemy lines, swatting agents out like flies. He watched Cap knocking out three agents at once, fast as ever, watched Thor, throwing his hammer like a boomerang and Falcon, darting through the sky, cutting down agents left and right and, yes, maybe they were all going a tad overboard with this, but who could blame them, really? They were _alive_.

Tony crashed through a window and into the base. Glass shards bounced off his armor, not even leaving a scratch. The room was filled with smoke. Tony could hear horrible, dry coughing in the distance – an enemy trying to fight his way out of the fire.

“What do you have for me, Jarvis?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

“I can locate thirteen unidentified individuals on this level of the building.” Thirteen small red dots appeared on screen. Tony focused on the closest one. To the left, to the right, and – the dot flickered and disappeared.

“Twelve individuals,” Jarvis said coolly.

“Yes,” Tony murmured, as another dot flickered and faded, “and I think I found Rhodey.”

“Just about time,” Rhodey panted into his ear, “Can’t see shit in this smoke.”

With a twitch of his finger, Tony took out a coughing HYDRA agent stumbling towards him. _Imbecile_. “Oh, the smoke? You should have installed the navigation update. Smoke can’t beat that thing.” Rhodey huffed.

“Yeah, please spare me the details, Tones.”

“You don’t want to know about the GPS function? The heat sensors, maybe?”

"Nah, thanks. I’m good." There was, perhaps, just a hint of bitterness in Rhodey's voice.

"Pity,” Tony said and turned towards the closest red dot. Was it _shivering_? It looked like it was shivering. “Because the best ones are mine. No thinking about your feelings.” Rhodey groaned and Tony laughed, but then –

“Boss, I have detected ten new unidentified individuals on your level.” And, indeed, the heavy doors of the elevator to Tony’s right began to open.

“Or maybe,” he drawled, positioning himself next to Rhodey in tense anticipation, “we can share.”

The repulsors juiced up. Energy buzzed through the armor and Tony tasted blood. _One, two, three_ and the world was on fire.

\---

“- and we took them out with one blow. One blow! Boom!” Rhodey laughed and downed the rest of his drink.

“We?” Tony echoed, “I think it’s safe to say that I did, like, 95% of the work.”

Rhodey stared at him. “What are you talking about? I was the first one to shoot! And you even had your fancy new gadget, your heat sensor thing or –“

“Ten?” Thor roared. “Only ten? I took out 21! At once! Just one blow-“ he swung his hammer in demonstration, “gone!”

“Oh yeah?” Rhodey asked sweetly, “Cause the last time you said ‘21’ it was actually only seven. Remember that?”

Tony got up from the couch, swaying just a little, and blocked out Thor’s booming and, undoubtedly, offensive reply. He staggered towards the bar, clutching his empty glass and watching in fascination as his vision blurred around the edges. There was only one way to deal with that. He leaned heavily against the bar, poured himself some whisky and watched the party unfold in the living room.

Thor was swirling his hammer in one hand, towering over Rhodey who looked utterly unimpressed by the threatening demeanor. Bruce was sitting in the corner, a single beer in his hand, chatting quietly to Romanoff, who appeared to be just as sober as he was. Steve and Sam were laughing about a joke Tony probably wouldn’t have found funny even if he had heard it, and Clint was nowhere to be seen.

Tony took a sip of whisky. This wasn’t a big party, just a derailed strategy meeting. It was just them. Laughing, joking, bickering, washing away the adrenaline with anecdotes and alcohol. Tony wasn’t too happy about that last part. He could get on board with the alcohol and even the anecdotes, at least when he was the one telling them, but the washing away – no, he didn’t agree with the washing away.

He didn’t want to come down. He didn’t _need_ to come down. He was content exactly where he was, thank you very much. Coming down wasn’t his style.

He downed the rest of his whisky and watched with mild interest as the resolution of the world worsened a little bit more. It was just them, just them… Nothing else between alien invasions and government conspiracies and HYDRA infiltrations. It was always them. His mouth was uncomfortably dry and, if that weren’t a guarantee for disassembling his reputation, he would abandon the booze in favor of a glass of water. At least for the moment.

The talk, the laughing and even Thor’s shouting were muffled. Tony reached for his ears, as though expecting to find them stuffed with cotton or foam or concrete - Steve, choking on the concrete, a Chitauri fist around his throat. Bruce, motionless, his beautiful brain splattered over the wall. And Rhodey, good old Rhodey, with a hole in his skull, leaking, _bleeding_ and –

No. Tony fumbled for the half-empty whisky bottle. _No. Nope_. Not thinking about that today, when they were all here together, after such a successful day, and why was he still hearing that cough, that dreadful, dry cough?

He poured himself another glass. His fingers were trembling. It had been a HYDRA agent, for God’s sake. HYDRA! They were killers, vicious and merciless and what could he say? It was his _job_. It was what he did. No reason to think about it. No reason at all. He clutched his glass more tightly. Time to rejoin the others, make sure that the only thing leaking out of any of them tonight was alcohol-induced puke.

He took an uncertain step, proud of himself for how steady it was, and, _Jesus_ , was that Steve untangling himself from his conversation with Sam, strolling towards Tony to, what, have a little chat? No, Tony had no patience for the elderly, not tonight, not after such an eventful day. He would just – he looked around, searching for an escape route because, yes, Steve was definitely walking towards him and if Tony’s drunk brain was still sober enough to decipher Steve’s expression correctly, he didn’t want to have a chat. He wanted to have a _talk_.

“Sir?”

Tony almost dropped his glass. “Jesus, Jarvis, I have a heart condition.” The alcohol was making Tony’s tongue heavy, but he was confident that he could still keep the slur out of his words. He was experienced, after all.

“My apologies, sir,” Jarvis said, “I simply wanted to inform you that ‘our guy’ has appeared in the main driveway.”

Tony got very close to choking on his own spit. “He’s here?” he spluttered, uselessly.

“Positive, sir,” Jarvis replied, unfazed as ever.

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to-“

What was he going to do? He had just wanted to – keep an eye on the kid. For … safety reasons? He should just ignore it, join the party, and have Jarvis play the shitty security camera recording for him tomorrow, just for his peace of mind, out of pure and detached curiosity. Yes, smacking the 'ignore' button hard would be the reasonable thing to do.

Steve had reached him now. “Do you have a minute?” he asked, a polite smile on his lips. _Yes_ , the 'ignore' button was the reasonable course of action, no doubt, but Jarvis _had_ just served Tony an exit ticket on a silver plate. What kind of man would Tony be to reject it? 

“Actually,” he said, “Jarvis just informed me-“ He hesitated. _That there’s a kid in my trashcan?_ No. “That there’s a situation that needs dealing with,” he finished lamely and, to gloss over his unusual loss for words, he added, “I’m sure you can take care of the kids without me for a sec, darling.” He patted Steve’s shoulder and turned away, ready to make his disappearance.

“Tony?” Tony stopped and closed his eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, stuffing that one syllable with as much nonchalance as humanely possible.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked and Tony sighed in relief. That was easy.

“Of course,” he said and regarded Steve with an incredulous look. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

\---

In the elevator Tony wondered if maybe this had been a bad idea after all. The normally exceptionally smooth ride downstairs (not his doing, just his money) seemed to be unusually bumpy today.

Tony was clutching the whisky glass for dear life as his vision blurred into a smear of colors and lights. His stomach was sitting somewhere in his throat. The alcohol in it was sloshing back and forth and Tony had to fight the bile that was threatening to spill over. He took another sip of whisky, regretted it and groaned. Tomorrow would be _horrible._ The elevator stopped.

Tony almost fell through the open doors, immensely relieved to escape that hellish box. A bit of whisky splashed onto his shirt. He cursed. “Jarvis?” he said and cursed some more because he shouldn’t have waited so long to ask this. “Is our, ah, guy still out there?”

“Positive, sir.”

Tony wasn’t exactly sure if he should be relieved or scared or both, but, he decided, he hadn’t put up with that elevator ride just to stop now. Giving up was not his style.

He walked towards the main entrance, staring furiously at his feet and silently ordering them to keep him in a straight line. At the very least, the fresh air would be a relief. He pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder and stuck his head outside. A cool breeze caressed his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yes, this was good.

“Sir?”

Tony’s eyes snapped open. He pulled his head back inside and spun around as gracefully as he could manage with his momentarily limited motor abilities. He squinted. The pale face of a very young and very confused looking security guard came into focus. Tony cleared his throat and schooled his face into what he hoped was a professional expression. Only at the last minute did he prevent himself from leaning against the door behind him and gracelessly tumbling onto the pavement.

“Sir?” the guard repeated.

“Present,” Tony said gruffly.

“Should you-“ the guard stuttered and Tony felt a wave of pity for her. _Poor thing_. The guard cleared her throat and – was she trying to put on an authoritative tone? “Should you be outside by yourself at - at this time of day, sir?”

Tony gave her a long look, the pity vanishing as quickly as it had come. “May I please go outside, nanny? Please?” he asked sweetly and watched with great satisfaction as the security guard flushed a deep shade of red.

“I just-“ she stuttered and he smirked. “I was told that you were to be accompanied whenever you go outside. Because,” she fumbled for words, “of your status.”

“Ah,” he said thoughtfully, “My status. It can be a bit of a hinderance occasionally, yes. But-“ he pressed a button on his watch (the big red one because to hell with discretion) and silently watched the red and gold gauntlet form around his wrist, “- it also allows me to do this.” He flexed his fingers and smiled at the guard who was staring at him with wide eyes. “I think I’ll be fine,” he said and pressed the big red button again. The gauntlet retracted.

To his dismay, its disappearance seemed to have also sped up the guard’s recovery process. She cleared her throat again – Tony would have offered her a cough drop if he had any – and tore her gaze away from Tony’s arm. “Right,” she said, more to herself than to Tony. “I see. But, with all due respect, sir, are you –“ she nodded at the glass in Tony’s hand.

Tony felt hot fury well up inside him. He smiled tightly and closed the distance between them with surprisingly steady legs. The guard shrunk back. Tony’s smile widened. He cocked his head. “Am I what, McGonagall? Carrying a glass?” He swirled the whisky in his hand. “Your observational skills are truly incredible. I can see why they hired you. You know what?” He shoved the glass into her hand and she clutched it automatically. “I trust you. You hold on to this for me. I’ll be back.”

He turned on his heels and walked back towards the door, leaving a confused and slightly terrified security guard behind. He stepped outside and smelled the fresh air. Thankfully, this time he was not disturbed.

\---

The encounter had sobered him up. His steps were steadier now and the world seemed a bit less fuzzy than it had in the elevator. Slowly, he made his way down the entryway. Perhaps the kid had bolted by now. He wouldn’t be surprised. Miss Sunshine in there had cost him some valuable time.

Driven by an inexplicable itch for secrecy, he carefully tiptoed towards the hedge and peaked around the corner. The driveway was about as dark as was possible in New York City and the hedge threw long, narrow shadows onto the pavement. If Tony had been 35 years younger, he would have thought they were reaching out for him with long, sharp claws. He tore his gaze away and shook his head. Not right now. Not when there were more important things to focus on.

Just barely, he could make out the shapes of the trashcans, right in the back in their little booth which, now that he was thinking about it, could probably use a door. And – his breath caught in his throat – he could also see -

The kid was kneeling beside the trashcans, hidden in the shadows and inspecting something on the floor. Tony swallowed. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Should he – say something? Clear his throat? Approach the kid? Make a joke? Or should he just stay there, not say a word and slowly retreat because, _fuck_ , if this wasn’t way out of his comfort zone.

The choice, it turned out, was made for him. The kid’s head jerked up. Slowly, carefully he spun around, his gaze flickering back and forth, the muscles in his jaws tightening. The itch for secrecy was ripening in Tony’s chest and he held his breath, so scared of being seen, suddenly, because this – and he didn’t know why – this was big.

The kid was just as tense, crouched on the floor, alert and wide-eyed and looking absolutely ridiculous. Perhaps, on a different day, Tony would have laughed, but as it was, his chest was too tight and the kid’s gaze too intense and, really, he couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Who’s there?” the kid asked in a raspy whisper. His voice was boyish and soft, but deeper than Tony had expected and, he noted dully, surprisingly steady. 14 years, Tony thought. Maybe. Was he too soft around the jaw to be 14?

“Who’s there?” the kid repeated, more loudly this time and with a demanding note to his voice.

Tony stepped out of the shadow. The kid stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then, his brown eyes grew huge and his mouth fell open. He stumbled to his feet.

“You’re-“ he stuttered. “I mean, hello. I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean-“ He gestured at the trashcans and trailed off.

An amused smile tucked at Tony’s lips. He tried to take a step towards the kid, almost lost his balance and stopped. _Shit_. “What do you have there, kid?” he asked and prayed to the Gods that his decade long training in ‘acting sober when drunk’ would pay off.

“Uh,” the kid stammered. His eyes flickered back and forth, between Tony’s face and the unidentified object on the floor. “It’s, uh, sorry, it’s a camera,” he said and bent down to pick it up – not without alternating between disbelieving and suspicious glances in Tony’s direction. “It’s, uh,” the kid murmured, weighing the camera in his hand, “a security camera of some sort. It’s – it’s smashed and I don’t think it works, but-“ He looked fearfully at Tony. “I mean, I can put it back. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to steal it. I was just, I mean, there are a ton of them in there and, sorry, I just thought, you didn’t need them anymore because-“ he pointed weakly at the trash can behind him, “they’re in the trash and stuff.” He bit his lip and fell silent.

Tony made a mental note to sack whoever had thought it would be a good idea to throw his old security equipment, smashed or not, into an unlocked trashcan. “You can keep it. I don’t usually fish things out of the trash. Unlike you,” Tony said nonchalantly, even though his throat was uncomfortably tight. The kid blushed and before he could stammer another apology, Tony added, “You’re a dumpster diver?”

The kid shrugged and looked away.

Tony hummed. “You’re looking for food? Because you can’t eat that camera, buddy.”

The kid flushed an even deeper shade of red. He tugged at some of the wires sticking out of the camera’s broken case. “I just like technology, I guess,” he murmured.

“Same here, kid,” Tony said lightly and then, because the alcohol was making him particularly adventurous, “What’s your name?”

The kid didn’t say anything, didn’t meet Tony’s gaze, just picked at the wires in silence. Tony counted to ten, bit his tongue for another five seconds, before finally running out of patience. The kid was making him nervous. “You don’t have to tell me, of course,” he said. _But I’ll find out anyway_.

Perhaps the kid was thinking something similar or perhaps the absurdity of the situation finally became too much for him. He lifted his head. “No, no. Sorry. It’s fine. It’s just, it’s just, you’re Tony Stark.” He sucked in a sharp breath as though he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Yes,” Tony said, “I’m Tony Stark. And you are…?”

The kid licked his lips and blew a strand of his fluffy brown hair out of his face. “Peter,” he said, “Peter Parker.”

“Alright, Peter Parker,” Tony lifted his hand apologetically, “I have nothing on me today,” _apart from a head full of booze_ , “but if you come back tomorrow or in a few days or whatever-“

The kid flinched and Tony trailed off. “That’s, that’s nice, Mr. Stark. I’ll, yeah, I’ll keep it in mind. But, it’s, I mean, it’s getting late and I should probably be home…” He hesitated. Tony stepped aside.

“Right, yes. Keep the camera.”

The kid nodded, gave a little wave and slipped past him, out of the driveway. He clutched the camera to his chest and started running. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, sir!” he called over his shoulder. Tony opened his mouth, trying to come up with a reply, but the kid had already disappeared around the corner.

Tony closed his mouth and swallowed heavily. He stood in his dark driveway, alone and in silence, the conversation replaying in his mind. _I should probably be home_. That was good. That was very good.

He turned around and staggered back towards the tower, pushed open the door. The warm air inside made him gag. He strolled past the security guard and wordlessly snatched the glass from her hands. He took a sip. His head was beginning to hurt. The elevator pinged and opened. He stepped inside, closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the steel wall. _What the fuck_ , he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Bright dots were dancing over Tony’s eyelids. He groaned.

“Rise and shine.”

Tony forced his eyes open and blinked against the light. Happy stared down at him. Tony closed his eyes again.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he grumbled, smacking his lips. The taste in his mouth was absolutely disgusting.

“I called you,” Happy said, the exasperation palpable in his voice. “You didn’t answer, Tony.”

Perhaps, on second thought, it was accusation rather than exasperation.

Tony opened his eyes again, blinked and took a deep breath against the foulness in his mouth. Happy’s nagging gaze was burning holes into his (throbbing) skull and – was he lying on the couch? “Yeah, I don’t know, tell Jarvis to wake me next time,” he said and sat up. The world was spinning. Happy kept staring at him, a deep, offended frown etched on his face.

“What?” Tony groaned and, _God_ , he could _smell_ it. He needed toothpaste or a mint or whatever.

“Just, Tony, you put this behind you.”

Tony decided that, for once, playing dumb would be the preferable course of action if only to see Happy’s ears turn that lovely shade of red. “Put what behind me?” he asked innocently and carefully watched as Happy’s expression grew sour and – yes! - his ears turned crimson.

Happy threw his hands up in desperation. “This, Tony,” he gritted out, “all of this.”

Tony followed Happy’s gaze as it anxiously darted around the room. He was, indeed, on the couch in the living room, where, judging by the rumpled state of his clothes, he had passed out cold, surrounded by empty bottles and broken glasses and crumpled bags of chips. “Ah, c’mon, lemon pie. This is nothing.”

He stumbled to his feet and, for a moment, watched the world shatter to pieces. It flickered and swirled and he barely resisted the urge to clutch Happy’s broad shoulders. He swayed, swallowed, closed his eyes, took a deep, measured breath. This was normal. It was to be expected and it would pass. He had experience with these things, even if it was, admittedly, a bit rusty. This was normal. It would pass. Everything was alright. Yes.

Cautiously, he cracked his eyes open. The world was blurry and bright, painfully so, but also wonderfully solid. Tony tapped his foot against the terribly sullied carpet – soft, stable and very real. No problem there.

Happy muttered something under his breath, forcing Tony’s attention away from the fuzzy safety of the carpet. For a second, Tony considered asking him to speak up, but, judging by the disgruntled look on Happy’s face, he was probably better off not knowing. “Think you could get me a glass of water? Bit dehydrated,” he asked instead.

Happy gave him a stern look.

“Tony.”

His voice was grave, but Tony was not in the mood and, also, he really needed to piss. He staggered toward the hallway.

“Tony,” Happy called after him, “I’m serious. You’re not 20 anymore!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I know, I’m feeling it. Add an aspirin to that water.” He _was_ feeling it. His head was _killing_ him.

“Tony!”

“And a mint. Be a dear.”

He heard Happy suck in a sharp breath, but he didn’t pay any mind to it, focused on struggling to open the bathroom door instead. As soon as he got that aspirin into his system, he would replace the damn thing. It was always jammed and he had to throw himself against it to – the door swung open, suddenly and smoothly, and Tony almost sprawled to the tiled ground. No, definitely not 20 anymore.

He steadied himself on the sink, his gaze flickering towards the mirror. His reflection stared at him reproachfully. “Yeah, I know, I know,” he muttered, “No need to say it.” He avoided his own eyes, bent over the sink and splashed water on his face. That always used to help a few years ago (how many?) and it did make a difference now. The man in the mirror, battered and reproachful before, was now battered, reproachful and dripping wet.

Tony ran his fingers over the bags under his eyes. Had they always been this dark? Should he steal some of Pepper’s concealer? He sighed. If that was what he’d be doing, he should also order hair dye because there was undeniably a grey tinge to his sideburns. And his beard – _God_ , he needed to shave, he looked like a fucking hobo – his beard was grey around the chin. Not 20 anymore, no.

Tony dropped his hand and took a few, wavering steps towards the toilet. He tipped the seat up, unzipped his fly and sighed in blissful relief. This part, at least, had not changed at all.

When he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he expected Happy and all that negative energy to be gone. Happy - so thankful to have left behind the years of babysitting a young and rarely sober Tony – was not going to spend any time with Tony and his hangover today. No way in hell.

What Tony did not expect was to find Happy in the kitchen with a glass of water, an aspirin and a mint sitting on the counter. Happy’s face betrayed no emotion. He just watched in judgmental silence as Tony dropped the aspirin into the water. It fizzed and the dissolving pill bopped to the surface, a desperate attempt to save itself from the chemical reaction it had been designed for. Useless, Tony thought. Completely useless.

“Tony,” Happy said, finally breaking the silence, his voice tight with – something. Tony hummed. Happy sighed. “Come on. What’s all this about?”

Tony’s eyes didn’t leave the fizzing pill. “Why, it’s a party, hun,” he murmured. “We busted another HYDRA base. I’m sure you heard. Was all over the news.”

Happy uncrossed his arms. “Can’t have been all that entertaining,” he said.

“Yeah, I mean, we had to be considerate of the elderly people present.” The water was still fizzing and Tony was certain that, if this took any longer, his head would actually combust. Unfortunate, considering he had promised his brain to the Royal Society.

Happy huffed. “No,” he said, “can’t have been fun because you left early.”

“I’m a free man.” Tony lost his patience and downed the fizzing water. It felt funny on its way down his throat. He set down the glass, drummed his fingers on the counter and realized, disgruntledly, that he was still thirsty.

“When you’re drunk, you’re not,” Happy said, grimly.

“Pretty sure there’s no law like that, pal.” Tony popped the mint into his mouth. It brought instant relief, drowning out the sickening foulness.

“Tony, we talked about this.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “We did, yes. I actually had a chat about it just yesterday with the princess down at security.”

“ _Elle_ mentioned it, yes.”

“You guys need name tags. Would have taken her a Missy or Brittany or Wednesday. Something a bit more, ah, cantankerous.”

“She was following protocol.” Frustration was oozing out of Happy’s every pore.

Tony snatched the glass off the counter and made his way towards the sink. With delight he noted that the world had decided to stop spinning. “Protocol?” he asked, opened the tab and held his finger under the stream of water. Not quite. Hangovers demanded _perfect_ temperature.

“Shouldn’t the protocols in this house be,” he gasped in feigned surprise, “run past me?”

“You know the protocol, Tony. Someone’s with you when you go out. Just safety.”

“Not like you care about that rule usually,” Tony muttered and filled the glass with just _perfect_ ice-cold water.

“I care when you’re drunk! Tony, what were you doing?”

Somehow, the question startled Tony. He took a sip of water, felt it slide down his throat, pleasantly cool on the raw skin. “I-“ he began and, for the second time in under 24 hours, he hesitated. He shouldn’t tell Happy. As a matter of fact, he shouldn’t tell anyone. “I needed air,” he said, finally. “Not 20 anymore, remember?”

“That’s not it,” Happy shook his head and, Lordy, did that man ever stop staring?

Tony took another sip. “Well, it was you who said it.” Suddenly he wished that the glass in his hand was filled with something stronger than just water.

“Elle watched you – safety, Tony. And she- you were talking to a kid.”

Or maybe, Tony thought, he could use something even stronger than alcohol. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. “Is she taking her meds?”

“What did you want from the kid?” Happy asked, undeterred.

“Oh, it’s _the_ kid now?”

Happy didn’t take the hint, didn’t flinch and didn’t stop. “Do you know him?” He grimaced. “Please tell me he’s not your illegitimate son.”

Tony twirled the glass in his hand and, deciding that he had lost this one battle, he shook his head.

“Then why did you leave the tower, completely shitfaced and without letting anyone know? Not even me, Tony?”

Something about the way Happy said it, something about the heaviness in his words, made Tony think that this wasn’t about the kid or even the drink. Not really, anyway. The glass stilled in his hand. “Why did you give him the cereal bar?” he asked.

This time, Happy did flinch. “That’s really not the point,” he grumbled.

“He’s just a kid,” Tony said quietly, eyes never leaving Happy’s face.

Happy sighed. “Look,” he said, forcing himself to meet Tony’s gaze, “it’s admirable and all that. Start a damn charity for all I care. But, Tony, there’s a difference between giving him a cereal bar and … doing whatever you’re doing. This – it’s not your area. Just call CPS and be done with it.”

The words made Tony’s blood boil. “My area is whatever I make it,” he gritted out.

His fingers tightened around the glass and then, suddenly, images flashed before his eyes.

_New York, burning, flooded with intruders. Pepper, glowing, and him, chasing after that bomb, too slow, always too slow. Always._

He watched a tiny crack form at the rim of the glass.

“Jesus, Tony, you know nothing about that boy! He could be a – a runaway, an addict, a teenage delinquent! Have you ever thought about that, Tony? Just once?”

The words knocked the air out of Tony’s lungs. They echoed in his mind, numbed his brain. “We’re talking about a kid. A kid,” he said flatly.

Happy swallowed. He rubbed a large hand over his face. “Look, you know what I mean. It’s not about that. It’s not about not helping him, but, Tony, you were drunk. You haven’t been that drunk in - how long?” He paused for a second, as though he actually expected Tony to pull out a calendar and count the days. “Just call CPS. Get it over with, okay? No drunken adventures, alright? Just, just stick to the regular stuff.”

“Wonderful idea!” Tony said, too loudly. He pushed past Happy and positioned himself next to the kitchen door. “You stick to being the head of security and I stick to whatever I want to stick to.” He opened the door with a curt bow. “Pepper’s coming home soon and I want to get someone to take care of Hiroshima down there in the living room.” He looked at Happy expectantly. He hadn’t moved an inch.

“Bye bye, head of security. Hasta la vista. Tschuess.”

Happy gave him a long look. Then, he nodded curtly and pushed through the door. “Gotcha, boss,” he murmured. His heavy footsteps shuffled down the hallway.

Tony let the door snap shut and leaned against it with a deep sigh. His head was _killing_ him.

\---

Paying an obscene amount of money for a deep clean of the living room had not been enough. Replacing the expensive, high-quality carpet with an even more expensive, more high-quality one, hadn’t been enough.

The new, refreshing lavender fragrance of the couch was not enough to cover up the sour smell that had seeped deep into the smooth fabric. The new carpet, as tasteful and delicate as it was, did not go with the furniture, was not enough to replace the old one. None of it was enough to soothe the throbbing behind Tony’s eyes, wash away the stale taste in his mouth and stop the words that were echoing, spiralling in his mind.

_You know nothing about that boy. Nothing, nothing, nothing._

No, the cleansing hadn’t been enough for Tony, who was lying on the couch, eyes closed, breathing in its sweet-and-sour smell and it hadn’t been enough for Pepper, who was carding cool, slender fingers through Tony’s hair.

_Nothing._

“You’re on the news,” Pepper murmured.

Tony cracked one eye open and watched blurry images flash over the muted TV screen. He thought he could make out the red and gold of his suit. “Yeah,” he sighed and closed his eye again.

“So, it was good?” Pepper asked, nothing but the quick, almost unnoticeable stutter of her fingers betraying her tension.

Tony nodded weakly. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to deal with the brightness of the room and the look on her face.

“You remember that firework in 2013?” she asked.

Tony flinched. He remembered very few good things from that year. He shook his head slowly, still unwilling to open his eyes.

Pepper sighed. “Yeah, it was beautiful. Can’t believe it’s been two years already.” Pepper's fingers quickened on his scalp. “Honestly, I still think it was the best thing you ever gave me for Christmas,” she said and Tony’s heart twisted painfully.

_Fire under her skin. Bombs and his house collapsing, crumbling, thinking he had lost her, thinking she was gone._

He swallowed heavily and opened his eyes, but Pepper wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the TV, unseeingly watching the muted battle clips playing on the screen. “It was so beautiful. The suits exploding in the sky and you, telling me – you remember what you told me?”

Tony wanted to reach out and stroke the soft curve of her jaw, but his arms were so heavy, so heavy. “That nothing would ever be alright because you’re in a relationship with me?” he asked, the words thick and awkward on his tongue.

Pepper’s fingers stilled. “No, that was not it,” she said, a sad smile on her lips. “But it really was beautiful.”

Her fingers picked up a steady rhythm again, running through Tony’s hair, cool, sedating. He closed his eyes and sighed. A movie, bright and painful, was playing on his eyelids, flames licking at his thundering heart and words echoing in his mind.

_You know nothing about that boy. Nothing._

Tomorrow, he decided, he would change that. Tomorrow he would dig just a little bit deeper. Tomorrow. For now, he would lie here with his memories and Pepper’s soft touch.

\---

“Jarvis, I’ve got something for you.” Tony's heart clenched painfully in his chest and a smug grin spread across his face. “No seventhousandwhatever possible matches. I got his name.” _If it is his name._

“You’re giving me a run for my money, sir,” Jarvis replied, coolly, and the grin on Tony’s face widened.

“What can you give me on one Mr. Peter Parker?”

Immediately, a screen pulled up in front of Tony, a short list of names on it.

“I found 22 New York City citizens with the name Peter Parker.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And how many of them fit our guy’s physique and so on?” He watched gleefully as the list on the screen shortened considerably.

“I have three potential matches, sir.” Another two names vanished from the screen. “And I have taken the liberty to narrow it down to the individual who best matches location and movement data.”

Tony flexed his fingers and took a big sip of coffee to calm his jittery nerves.

“Let’s take the hacking down to a minimum. No need to overdo it.” A new window popped up on the screen. Tony lifted a hand to stop Jarvis from reading the information out to him. This was his moment. He leaned forward and scanned the small writing on the screen.

There was a picture of the kid in the top right corner. No doubt it was him. _US citizen. Middle name: Benjamin. Jewish-Catholic. Freshman. 14 years. 14._ Tony whistled. “Damn, I’m good at this,” he murmured. _Forest Hills, Queens. Queens?_ “A bit far away from home, are we, kid?” Tony stroked his goatee contemplatively. He really shouldn’t do it. Really, _really_ , shouldn’t.

“Jarvis, you think we can get a bit more on the kid? Family, grades, all that jazz? Don’t know, criminal record maybe?” He had to close his eyes for a moment to calm his racing heart.

“I thought we didn’t want to ‘overdo it’, sir?”

“Damn, beating me at my own game. Am I witnessing moral decline?” Tony grumbled and counted his breaths. Sip of coffee, one, two, three, another sip.

“Not at all, sir. I simply recall a rather lengthy talk about privacy you had with Ms. Potts not too long ago.”

Tony groaned. Pepper’s talks were never enjoyable, on the contrary, but this was completely different from digging into the secret and compellingly kinky private lives of noisy journalists. Completely different. Pepper would understand (she woudn’t) and he was – just being responsible.

 _Let’s have at it_. The words were on the tip of Tony’s tongue, waiting. His brain was itching with curiosity. This wasn’t about religion or citizenship or grades. It was about – about trashcans and, anyway, Tony never used to think twice about sifting through databases and plucking out files to his heart’s content. Pepper was right. Respecting others' privacy was not particularly high up on Tony’s priority list, not when he had this itch in his brain, not when the little information on the screen was not nearly enough to still it.

Tony’s heart quickened its already troublesome pace. Really, he had every reason, every right, but his heart was racing, thundering and Happy’s words were echoing in his brain.

_Runaway, addict, teenage delinquent and have you ever thought about, Tony?_

Tony really hadn’t thought about that and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Perhaps that was inexcusable negligence on his part. It probably was, actually, but, for God’s sake, they were talking about a kid. What was he supposed to do? What?

Jarvis, calm and steady, everything Tony never wanted to be, presented him with an answer in the form of one bland sentence. “Incoming call from Captain Steve Rogers.”

“Put it through,” Tony said, cringing at the hasty urgency in his own voice. With a wave of his hand the screen in front of him disappeared and something astoundingly akin to hope blossomed in his chest. His heartbeat slowed.

“What’s up?” he asked. No beating around the bush this time.

“We got a new hint,” Steve replied, curt as ever.

“Gee, you’re not one for small talk, are you, Cap?”

“Romanoff picked up on it – just whispers, I think. But you know her. She’s good with that.”

She was good with that and, honestly, Tony had never been happier to receive news that smelled so much like work. Lots, and lots of work. He groaned nonetheless. “Already? Can’t a man catch a break? Our last raid was, what, three days ago?”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, “Tony, I think this is big.”

\---

The place _was_ huge, no questions asked. Tony stared at the map in front of him and, HYDRA or not, couldn’t help but marvel at the integrity of the base. Guards at every entrance. Gun mounts in every nook and cranny. Airtight seals on all doors and windows. Designed to give nothing and no one a fighting chance at penetrating its steel walls.

But there had to be a weak spot. There always was. It was only a matter of time until Tony found it. The scepter was somewhere inside that hunk of metal and where would Tony hide it if he had to?

He paused for a second, glancing at the small monitor to his right.

The new security cameras had improved the situation a fair bit. He could actually make out the shape of the trashcans, but, he shook his head furiously, right now was not the time to enjoy his own satisfaction and, besides, the driveway was empty and deserted and, _God_ , now was _not_ the time.

He forced his attention back towards the map. The scepter would have to be available to study, yet safe enough as to not take any risks. A vault? ( _Now was not the time!_ ) An underground lair? A high-security lab, guarded, armed and sealed? Tony liked labs, was in one right now, and he would bet that Strucker was, too, somewhere in his little Eastern Europe hideout.

“Jarvis, old boy, think you can mark the labs for me?” Disappointingly few new items popped up on the screen; nothing specific, just assumptions based on entryways and transportation routes ( _not the time, not the time, not the time_ ). If Tony could just take a closer look, if he could just see for himself – ( _God!_ )

He glanced at the small monitor and hated himself for it. The driveway was, unsurprisingly, still empty.

“Focus,” Tony muttered to himself. This was more important. This was about the scepter, about the powers lying within, about HYDRA and that old asshole Strucker. It was about continuing their purge. And that, he threw a reproachful look at the monitor, that was about one kid. One of many he could keep safe if he just _focused_.

But, a little voice at the back of his mind whispered, it had been days. The kid had said he’d be back. Hadn’t he? Tony let out a deep measured breath. Hadn’t he? _Focus._

“Jarvis, show me everything we’ve got on the entrances. Yeah, yeah, zoom in as much as possible.” Once they had secured the thing, finding the scepter would be easy. It really was about making sure that no one escaped, not one measly agent and, least of all, Strucker himself. If HYDRA figured out how to channel the scepter’s powers, if they cracked its secret -

The door to the lab opened. Tony whirled around, his heart pounding in inexplicable panic and then, widening, warming when he spotted Pepper’s silhouette in the dark doorway. Her hair was pulled up in a perfect ponytail and her heels were clicking on the floor authoritatively as she walked towards him.

“Have you been in here all day?” she asked, her gentle voice a stark contrast to her professional appearance.

“No,” Tony lied automatically, and the screen behind him vanished with a flick of his finger.

Pepper tapped him on the nose. “Liar,” she whispered.

He offered her a tight smile. “New mission. What can I do?”

She hummed softly. “Dinner? With me? Maybe? You know, human interaction?”

“Yeah? Exactly what kind of human interaction are we talking?”

Her lips twitched. “Human interaction with the person who’s supposed to be your girlfriend.”

He clasped her hands and tried to pull her into his lap. “You sure that counts as ‘human’ interaction? I was under the impression that she was _superhuman_.”

Pepper resisted his efforts, trying, very badly, to hide a smile. “You are horrible,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull her hands away.

“Tell me, Ms. Potts, did it hurt when you fell from space? ‘Cause your looks are just out of this world.”

“Dinner, Tony. Now.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Food.”

He made a face.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “And – who knows where the night will go?”

He sprung to his feet, let go of her hands and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “That last part, Ms. Potts, was _very_ persuasive.”

They walked towards the door, arm in arm, and his heart only constricted a little bit as he thought about the work that he was missing out on, the work that needed to be done, the work, the work, the work. A smile tugged at his lips. Who knew where the night would go?

In the doorway, Tony turned around one last time, had to, really, and glanced at the small monitor. The driveway, of course, was still dark and deserted and - Tony froze. There, on the not-so-grizzly-anymore video, was something that moved, something human-shaped, something, and the thought excited him more than he liked to admit, Peter Parker-shaped.

Pepper looked at him quizzically. Tony cleared his throat. Should he just – _could_ he just tell her? He stared into her blue eyes for a long moment, contemplating, considering, but no. Happy hadn’t been, well, happy about this and Pepper wouldn’t be any different and Tony didn’t have the time or the patience or the goodwill for another lecture about responsibility and caution. But, ditching her without a reason after what had undoubtedly been another exhausting day? No, that wouldn’t do either.

And yet, he had promised the kid that he would be back and he always kept his promises, apart from the ones about spending less time on missions and more with his girlfriend or the ones about making smart choices and being honest and transparent and – he had _promised_.

He looked at Pepper’s raised eyebrows, slowly disappearing in her hairline. He looked at her eyes, so blue, looked at the one loose strand of hair falling over her forehead and decided that he’d just have to be quick. He plastered a confident smile on his face. “Why don’t you get a little head start? I’ll catch up.”

Pepper did not smile back. “No dinner?” she asked and why did she always assume he’d blow their plans altogether?

“Yes, dinner!” he said hastily, too hastily, and he barely stopped himself from throwing another and most certainly treacherous glance at the monitor. “I’ll join you in a minute, alright? There’s just something I have to do real quick.”

She hesitated and he hoped that she wouldn’t ask any more questions because he wasn’t prepared to lie, not right now and not to her. “Okay,” she said.

Tony stifled a relieved sigh. She removed his arm from her shoulder.

“You’ll be there?” she asked quietly when he was already hustling back to the workbench.

For the second time in mere minutes, he froze. “You bet. Just order whatever you like.”

She didn’t answer, simply turned around and left and soon he could hear the clicking of her heels on the fancy but impractical marble floor in the hallway. A thought occurred to him. “Actually, I take that back,” he called after her and he heard her stop, imagined her sucking in a sharp breath. “I want Chinese!” The clicking in the hallway resumed. Tony smiled to himself. That, he thought, almost counted as a promise. Almost.

He looked at the monitor and – yes! – the kid was still there, standing beside the trashcan, waiting, hopefully, or having a stroke, alternatively. Tony sprinted towards the cupboards and snatched the nearest (half empty and, to his shame, half eaten) stash of snacks. He hesitated for a moment, before grabbing a small circuit board and a tiny old spy camera from the workbench. The kid would appreciate it.

In the elevator, he steeled himself for another unfortunate interaction with the prissy little security guard. He judged her as the type of person to whom learning from one’s mistakes was a foreign concept. This time he wouldn’t be so patient, he decided. He was sober, after all, and, no matter what Happy thought, he was a free man, despite his wealth and _because_ of his suit.

But, as he stepped out of the elevator, he noted to his (and, undoubtedly, Brittaney’s) immense relief, that there was different guard on duty tonight – a middle-aged woman, muscle packed and stoic, and, luckily, completely disinterested in Tony’s comings and goings. Tony gave her a curt nod, a bit self-conscious about the snacks and battered pieces of technology in his arms. The guard didn’t bother returning it, just gave him a dismissive once-over. A refreshing, albeit rude, change, Tony thought and pushed through the door into the fresh evening air.

He slowed down as he neared the bushes separating him from the driveway and the kid. The adrenaline that was flooding his bloodstream, the energy, the drive, subsided. He glanced down at the snacks in his arms.

_Runaway, addict, teenage delinquent._

Tony let out a deep breath. They were talking about a kid. A _kid_. And he had promised. He had _promised_.

Slowly, hesitantly his heart somewhere in his throat, he walked around the hedge, stepped out of the shadows and into the driveway.

The kid whirled around in one smooth movement, and stared at Tony with almost as much awe written on his face as the first time they had met. His eyes were wide and – Tony’s breath caught in his throat. He was sprouting a nice black eye on his soft features. Tony’s mouth tightened.

“Hi,” the kid breathed.

“Back again, I see,” Tony replied, too much harshness in his voice. Too much.

The kid flinched. His eyes danced over the snacks in Tony’s arms and lingered, for only a moment, on the old spy camera. “I didn’t think, I didn’t think –“ he murmured and Tony thought he knew where that sentence was going, even though the kid didn’t have enough air in his lungs to finish it.

_I didn’t think you would actually come._

“Listen, kid,” Tony said and stepped closer. “I’ve kinda got a dinner date up there.” He nodded at the penthouse. “And, if I can give you one piece of advice, never leave a lady waiting.”

The kid nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I don’t mean to impose. I was just, I was just in the neighborhood and thought and thought-“

“In the neighborhood?” Tony asked before he could stop himself because, damnit, the kid was from Queens and had no business, no business at all, being in Manhattan. Not at this time of day. Not alone.

“It’s fine,” Tony said gruffly, when he didn't get a reply. He struggled to stuff the spy cam and the circuit board into his pocket and peeled a bag of chips – _God_ , he could practically hear Pepper droning on about healthy eating habits – from the pile in his arms. With great difficulty, he threw it at the kid.

The kid caught it with ease. “Thanks,” he murmured and then they stood there, silently, the billionaire and the dumpster diver, Iron Man and the kid from Queens. Tony wavered on his feet, uncertain, with a bunch of snacks in his arms. The kid was stiff as a poker, staring dumbly at the bag in his hands. Tony licked his lips. He had never been good with silence.

“You gonna open that?” he asked.

The kid’s head snapped up. “It’s,” he hesitated, “I think it’s already open?”

 _Shit_ , Tony thought. “Oh,” he said.

Impossibly, miraculously, the kid’s eyes grew even wider. He threw his hands up apologetically. “It’s fine, really. I’m – it’s not a problem.”

Tony furrowed his brow. “Nah,” he said and inspected the snacks left in his arms. He picked up another bag of chips, doubled checked that it hadn’t been opened yet, and tossed it at the kid. “Have another one.” He hesitated for a moment. “Actually, have all of it." He stepped closer to the kid, deliberately ignoring how he shrunk back, and dumped the snacks at his feet.

Tony scrutinized the heap on the floor, spotted another open bag, picked it up, strolled towards the closest trash can, opened it and tossed the bag in. He turned around. The kid was staring at him with those ridiculously wide eyes, not moving an inch. Tony wiped his hands on his jeans and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“For later,” he said, nodding at the trash can. The kid’s ears turned bright red. Tony wanted to punch himself in the face. He cleared his throat and pointed weakly at the snacks piled on the floor.

“Give me one of those, alright?” The kid didn’t move for another long moment. Then, he bent down, picked out a bag with polite care and threw it in Tony’s direction. Tony caught it. “Salt and Vinegar,” he said, “Love that stuff. What do you have?”

The kid looked down at the bag in his own hand, as though he was seeing it for the first time. “BBQ,” he murmured.

Tony made a face. “Yeah, I prefer mine.” He ripped open his bag. Finally, _finally_ the kid followed his lead and, a split second later, stuffed a handful of greasy chips into his mouth.

Tony didn’t touch his own chips – they always made him feel so gassy and he had a dinner date after all – but the kid didn’t even seem to notice. He crumpled the empty bag of chips and, it had to be a miracle, only hesitated for a second before he picked up another one to devour.

“Thanks,” he murmured around a mouthful of chips. Then, his brow furrowed. He gave Tony a long look. “I appreciate it, sir. I really do, but you – didn’t you say you had a – you had a date?”

Yes, that was what Tony had said and that was what he had meant and it had surely been way longer than the minute he had promised Pepper. But… but. He waved off the kid’s concern. “I’ll be fine, kid. I mean, she’ll murder me, but I’ll live.”

The kid cracked a merciful smile at that terrible, horrible joke. “Thanks,” he said for what must have been the fiftieth time. Tony nodded.

“So,” he said because something needed to be said and because he refused to acknowledge another thank you and because that black eye was making his stomach churn. “Someone got you good?” He nodded at the kid’s face.

The kid froze, his mouth full of chips and grease clinging to his chin. “Yeah,” he said after a while, “just ran into some bad people.” He eyed Tony wearily, not daring to take another chip, not daring to move.

“Okay,” Tony said.

It wouldn’t be good to press right now, would it? The kid was supposed to eat, after all. Should he press him? Was it, what, his responsibility to press him, as the adult and whatnot? Thankfully, the kid interrupted Tony’s train of thought before he could make what would undoubtedly have been the wrong decision.

“I just, really, thanks, Mr. Stark, sir. I didn’t – I wasn’t going to come back because, I mean, I don’t want to impose and, also, I thought maybe you had, I don’t know, called someone?” The last part was much more of an anxious question than a statement.

Tony shook his head quickly. “Haven’t, kid,” he said, honestly. But perhaps Happy had. He would murder Happy if he had. Sack him. Give him a stern talking to.

The kid almost choked on a chip in relief. “That’s good,” he croaked, finally, after the coughing had worn off and Tony had decided that neither the Heimlich maneuver nor an ambulance would be needed just yet.

“Because,” and was there a hint of defiance in the kid’s voice? “there’s no reason to. We’re doing good.” The kid’s expression was sheepish, but determined, almost prideful.

“I’m sure you are, kid,” Tony said, raised an eyebrow and glanced at the kid’s spice powder and grease covered fingers. The kid stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth.

“Who’s we?” Tony asked after a moment of hesitation, hoping, praying that he hadn’t overstepped one boundary or another. The kid’s squared his shoulders and dusted off his hands and Tony suspected that he wouldn’t get a proper answer out of him.

“People at home,” the kid said, confirming Tony’s suspicion, “Because – because I have a home, you know?”

The statement was so defiant, downright childlike, that it almost made Tony smirk. Almost. He forcefully resisted the tug at his lips and hummed contemplatively instead. “I don’t know, kid,” he said, “sounds exactly like something someone without a home would say.”

He watched the kid carefully, looked for a treacherous blush or twitch or tremble, but there was none of that.

The kid just glared at him. “I have a home,” he said stiffly and stuffed the empty bag of chips into the pockets of his washed-out jeans. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I have a home and we’re doing alright. We’re – we’re getting by. I just – I search for tech stuff. That’s all. That’s it.”

Tony watched him rip open another bag. He scratched his goatee. “Okay. Gotcha. No talking about home.”

“Thanks,” the kid mumbled around a mouthful of chips. The tips of his ears turned red. Tony licked his lips.

“What about the ‘bad people’ you ran into? That a no touchy zone, too?”

The kid shrugged.

Tony cocked his head. “School?” he asked, poking around in the dark, really, and yet hoping that he was right. The blush spread from the kid’s ears to his cheeks, telling Tony everything he needed to know. Thank God. Bullies were easy. Bullies were harmless. Bullies meant the kid went to school.

“Bullies suck,” Tony said.

The kid nodded tightly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “They do.”

“You know, the Captain America PSAs kinda do have a point – don’t tell him I said that. There are people who can put a stop to this if you just give them a chance.”

The kid licked his fingers and crumpled his third bag of chips. Slowly, he lifted his head. “Yeah, I know,” he said, looking Tony straight in the eye. “But it’s fine, honestly, Mr. Stark. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You sure about that? Just say the word and we’ll figure something out, alright? Nothing we can’t figure out.” Tony wasn’t talking about the bullies ( _God_ , did he not care about the bullies) and the kid knew it.

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his feet, “but no thanks, Mr. Stark. Really. Yeah, it’s fine.” He nervously drummed his fingers on the seam of his pants, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s late. I should – it’s late.” No. _No_.

“Actually, I’ve got something for you,” Tony said, hastily. He pulled out the circuit board and the spy cam. “Not much. Give me a heads-up next time and I’ll get you something better.”

The kid perked his head up. His lips parted in a silent “O” and he stared at the items in Tony’s hand as though they were the most wonderous things he had ever seen. He took a tentative step towards Tony, stopped and wavered on his feet uncertainly. “Can I – is it okay, if I just –“

Tony nodded.

With an amount of care that looked unnatural on his young features, the kid took the camera and circuit board from him. He traced his fingers over the knobs on the board, looked up and offered Tony a big smile. “Thanks, sir. I, yeah, thank you!”

“Encouraging young minds, promoting young talent… It’s all on our website,” Tony said nonchalantly, but his heart gave a pleasant jolt. He watched the kid caress the plastic case of the camera. The gentle gesture, the awe on the kid’s face did something to him, loosened something in his chest.

Suddenly, the kid’s smile faded. His fingers stilled and Tony’s heartbeat quickened. “But, Mr. Stark, sorry, but your dinner.”

His _dinner_. Tony swallowed heavily. “Agreed,” he said because his _dinner_ and because it was late and dark and cold and the kid was from goddamn Queens.

The kid clutched the, well, rubbish Tony had given him protectively to his chest and wandered out of the driveway, towards the main street. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Stark, sir,” he called over his shoulder and then he froze.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and meaningful. The kid’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened and closed in the muted struggle for an apology lost somewhere in his throat.

Tony coughed slightly. He smiled. “If you wait around a bit, next time, I’ll get you something better than that stuff. And –“ Tony eyed the dark bruise on the kid’s face, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but, you know, I have a suit and an unstable personality.”

The kid opened his mouth again, hesitated, and snapped it shut with determined finality. He offered Tony a faint smile and a curt nod. Then, he turned around and hurried down the street, disappearing behind the corner.

Tony sighed. He tossed his untouched bag of chips into the trashcan behind him. God, he hated Salt and Vinegar and, God, his _dinner_.

\---

Pepper was sitting at the dining table, a pile of cold Chinese food in front of her. She refused to look up when Tony shuffled into the room, 30 minutes later than promised and deeply ashamed.

“That’s a ‘minute’ to you?” she asked. Her voice was strained, not a trace of humor in it.

Tony couldn’t stand it. “Won’t happen again,” he said, lightly, and tried to press a kiss to her brow.

She pushed him away, gently but fiercely. “That’s what you always say, Tony.”

His heart clenched because of course, _of course_ she was right. “I know, I know,” he muttered and slumped into a chair. He picked up his fork and began to shovel greasy noodles into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said when the silence grew painful and Pepper refused to touch her food. The sincerity behind the words didn’t sting as much as he had thought it would. Pepper, however, didn’t seem to appreciate this momentous new development as much as he did.

“You weren’t in the lab,” she said instead, pursing her lips. “I checked. Twice.”

Tony quickly shoved another forkful into his mouth, buying himself some time to come up with an exit strategy, but, when he swallowed and met Pepper’s eye, he was, for once in his life, very sure that there wasn’t one.

“I had something to take care of,” he said, set down the fork and grasped Pepper’s hands over the table. This time she did not push him away.

“You always have something to take care of,” she said and she sounded tired, so _tired_.

“Yes. You’re right. I do. But...” And how should he explain this when he couldn’t possibly be honest and when he couldn’t possibly lie? “There’s something I have to fix. Pep. I have to.” God, how true that was.

If he couldn’t protect the world, hell, if he failed even at keeping New York safe, if he couldn’t keep the terrorists away from his expos and the poison from Pepper’s skin, her beautiful skin, he’d fix at least this one thing. Just this one thing.

“Tony, you always ‘have’ to. Always.”

And yes, yes, of course. He had the money, he had the brain and who else, Pep? Who else? Why wouldn’t she understand? Why wouldn’t she see what he needed to do? 

He looked into her blue eyes and tightened his grip on her hands, silently, wordlessly forcing something impossibly thick and impossibly heavy down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate all comments and am always happy to receive feedback! 
> 
> Have a great day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, kids, because this is an angsty one. Sorry for that but, also, enjoy!

It happened again and again and again.

\---

Tony was bent over a 3D model of Strucker’s base when he spotted the small figure on the monitor.

He sprinted out of the room, all thoughts about possible defense systems and energy fields and secret exits gone. One hurried stop in the kitchen later, he slammed the elevator button into the stratosphere, balancing a half-finished android head and a cold box of take out in his arms.

The kid loved the head so much that he almost forgot about the food.

“Mr. Stark! This is – wow,” he squealed excitedly and, as always, Tony wiped away the gratitude with a breezy smile and a shake of his head.

“Gotta eat something, kid,” he said and the kid did, one hand clutching the head protectively, the other shovelling overcooked pieces of roast duck into his mouth as though they were the true flesh of Christ. Or something.

\---

Tony watched some important guy in a tie click through a PowerPoint presentation, droning on and on about the new StarkPhone personal assistant, which Tony wanted to know precisely nothing about. Business meetings, Tony was certain, were among the most horrendously boring creations on God’s beautiful earth.

Naturally, he took to his heels at the first chance he got, which, in this case, turned out to be the newly installed and sufficiently discrete kid alarm on his watch.

“Bowel issues,” he said, grabbed his tablet from the table and threw a charming smile at Mr.What’s-His-Face, who had just pulled up the sixth hundred PowerPoint slide and was staring at him with wide eyes.

There was no food that day, but the kid didn’t seem to mind and refused to take Tony up on his offer to order pizza.

“This is better than any pizza,” he said, studying the complex coding on Tony’s tablet with an enthralled look on his face. “I mean, seriously, I wouldn’t even trade this for the deep pan pizza from that place ‘round where I live and, like, that stuff is magic. So cheesy.”

“You get it?” Tony asked, his eyebrows disappearing in his hairline because this was _advanced_ stuff and the kid was 14.

“Yeah, I’ve always been a cheese lover.”

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. “The coding, kid. Lordy.”

Peter’s ears turned bright red. “Oh,” he said. “That - that makes more sense.” He looked up from the tablet. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth and the crimson had spread to his cheeks, but his eyes were glowing with excitement. “It can do so many things,” he breathed.

Tony laughed. “That? That’s nothing. Best on the phone market, but really nothing compared to Jarvis.” Now he had the kid’s full attention.

“What’s a Jarvis?” the kid asked, putting down the tablet.

“He's my personal assistant. Helps me around the house and, you know, with the whole hero thing.”

Throwing Iron Man into the conversation had the desired effect. Peter’s eyes lit up. “What can he do? Can you explain the coding? Please? What's his memory capacity and does he update himself and…”

Tony smiled. He’d have to give the kid the good stuff from now on, the stuff that involved less tinkering and more thinking, because this boy – he was something else.

“Bowel issues?” Pepper hissed later, when Tony was back at the penthouse. “ _Bowel issues_?”

“What can I do? I’m not 20 anymore,” Tony said, aiming for a light and conciliatory tone and obviously missing by a mile if the red blotches on Pepper’s cheeks were anything to go by.

“Cut the bullshit, Tony. I ask you to go to a meeting once – _once_ – and you just – you run out!” Her voice was filled with cold rage and - Tony cringed - disappointment.

“It was more than just once,” he muttered, but it didn’t do anything to help his case.

“It is called _Stark_ Industries, Tony. Notice something? That it’s you name, maybe? It is your business. Yours!”

“You’re the CEO,” Tony reminded her because who if not Pepper could protect him from the horrors lurking in the conference room?

“And you’re the face!”

“Iron Man’s the face.”

“You _are_ Iron Man, Tony!”

In the end, he smiled and promised that he would be better, anything to wipe that disappointed and furious and exhausted look off of her face. She sighed and looked even more exhausted and told him that if he decided to take her literally and wear the Iron Man suit to a meeting even just once, she would murder him without hesitation.

\---

If the kid was good at programming, he was brilliant at engineering and bioengineering and chemistry and physics and math. It was truly impressive, Tony had to admit. Granted, maybe Peter sucked at everything arts and humanities, but so did Tony and, also, who cared? They wouldn’t save the planet with the _Mona Lisa_ and _Eine kleine Nachtmusik_.

Tony watched Peter from the corner of his eye, bent over the tablet, studying the blueprint of a hypothetical suit improvement. He was talking a mile a minute, rattling off observations and calculations and _What does this do?_ and _What if we adjusted this measurement?_ and _This is so cool, Mr. Stark, oh my God, I can’t believe it_. Just occasionally he paused to breathe or stuff a particularly cheesy piece of pizza into his mouth.

“You know,” Tony said, his heart thumping in his chest, “We could always work on some real stuff, upstairs in my lab.”

The kid swallowed a truly enormous bite and eyed Tony warily. “Is this your version of luring me in with sweets?”

Tony chuckled. “Nah, just might be easier that way. And more fun.”

Peter seemed to think about that for a moment, picking at a spot on his chin. He shook his head. “Sorry, I really – wow, I appreciate it, Mr. Stark. But – sorry – you don’t just go into a stranger’s house.”

He flashed Tony a grin and Tony smiled back, pretending that the word stranger hadn’t hurt. “You really think I’d risk kidnapping you? It would be the end of Stark Industries,” he said, lightly, and grabbed a particularly greasy piece of Pizza.

Peter looked at him for a bit too long, his expression a bit too serious. “Nah, but if you can’t get away with it, who can?”

\---

“You spoke to the kid since?” Happy asked a few days later.

Tony hummed. Things had been a bit tense between them since that fateful hungover conversation. Humming seemed to be the safest option.

“So, that’s a yes.” Happy said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You haven’t told anyone, I’m guessing?”

“No,” Tony replied in his _no bullshit_ voice, which Happy, of course, ignored all together.

“Have you at least looked into him?”

“A bit,” Tony said, curtly, and, _God_ , this car ride was decidedly too long.

“’A bit’? A kid shows up on your doorstep and you don’t do your research? He could be a runaway –“

Tony cut him off. “Or an addict or teenage delinquent. Yeah, got it. Thanks.”

“You just don’t care?”

Tony stared out of the window. “I’m not one to judge,” he said, finally, pushing his sunglasses up his nose.

Happy huffed. “So, he’s what now? Your charity case?”

Tony shook his head slowly. “It’s not about charity. He’s … gifted.”

“He’s –“ Happy took a measured breath. “He’s _gifted_. Jesus, Tony, have you ever thought about the press? Have you thought about someone seeing you with a little boy? In your driveway?”

“Not the most compromising situations they’ve ever caught me in,” Tony said and shrugged. Something, somewhere deep inside him, clenched painfully.

Happy tightened his grip on the wheel. “Come on, Tony. You’re not naïve. They’d think he’s your secret son – or worse, they’d come up with all kinds of accusations –“

Tony froze, the something rising up, up, up until it had reached his throat. “Don’t go there, Happy,” he said flatly, dangerously. “Don’t you _dare_ go there.”

“I’m not! I’m _not_ going there. But the press would. You know they would!”

Tony scoffed. “Not sure if you noticed, Hap, but I don’t care about the press. At all.”

“That’s the problem, Tony! That’s exactly the problem! The kid could be goddamn bait from the _Daily Bugle_ and you’d just take it like a fucking trout!”

Tony whipped his head around. “I can take care of myself. Thank you very much,” he hissed, clenching and unclenching his fist, digging his nails into his sweaty palms.

“I don’t doubt that,” Happy said tensely, shooting Tony an extremely doubtful look.

"Yeah? That why you have your staff babysit me?"

"Come on," Happy groaned, "Not this again. It's safety, Tony. _Safety_."

"Oh yeah?" Tony snapped because how could Happy say that? How could he say that to _him_? He raged on, working furiously against the something in his throat. "Feels more like control to me. I know there's a bit of an overlap there, in your pretty head, but, gotta be frank with you, it’s kinda hurting my feelings."

"God, Tony. She - she's not even on duty anymore."

"Oh, how _generous_ of you!"

Happy's sigh sounded almost as exhausted as Pepper's. “It’s just... I’m...” He hesitated for a moment, his ears turning crimson. “I’m _worried_ , Tony. That's all.”

“And I’m just doing something good. That’s it. _That’s all_.”

“Yeah?” Happy asked, his eyes fixed on the street.

“Yes. Now, would it be possible to go a bit faster? You’re driving a Tesla, not a horse carriage.”

Tony turned back towards the window, watched the city rush past and counted his breaths.

\---

He was just doing something good. He was just doing his job.

And yet, there he was, slumped over his workbench, staring at the HYDRA map with unseeing eyes and clutching a cup of lukewarm coffee for dear life.

_Like a trout._

He’d just have to say the word and he would learn everything there was to know about Peter’s family and friends and the criminal record Happy was so adamant about.

_Runaway, addict, teenage delinquent._

_Tony_ should have been a teenage delinquent. It would have been fair. How many police officers did his father bribe to keep him out of trouble? At least one thing Tony could be thankful for, even if it had been just another charade, an attempt to save the family name. Peter wouldn’t have had anyone with that kind of money on his side.

Teenage delinquent. Tony huffed a humorless laugh. More like victim of bad circumstances.

He took a sip of coffee. Why would it matter? Even if Peter had a criminal record longer than the Great Wall of China, why would it matter? Wouldn’t it be Tony’s responsibility to save the kid from going down that path? Wouldn’t that be the right thing, the Iron Man thing to do?

_Have you ever thought about the press?_

Tony shook his head. It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

_Bait. Media bait._

Peter, wide-eyed, brown-haired Peter.

_Media bait._

Peter was smart; as in Tony Stark or Bruce Banner smart. That was all Tony needed to know. Peter deserved the support, desperately needed it, if he were to live up to his potential and Tony was just helping out, doing something good, doing his job.

His hands were trembling. Coffee splashed onto his shirt. Sighing, he rested his head on the tabletop and closed his eyes, ready to doze off, ready to forget, only for a few minutes.

His watch buzzed. He sprung to his feet, knocked over the coffee and cursed loudly. With wild eyes, he gathered up the paper and half-finished tech pieces scattered over the workbench. Coffee was dripping from a hasty 3am suit update sketch, smudging the ink and, Tony thought as he dumped the paper in the trash with a frustrated groan, stuff like that was _exactly_ why the future was digital. 

Hastily, he sorted through the dripping mess in his arms, cursing some more. He pulled out a pair of smart glasses he deemed salvageable and scrutinized them for a moment, smoothing his thumb over a crack in the frames. Yes, he thought, nodding grimly, Peter would like this. Carelessly, he dumped the rest of the rubbish on the floor. He would come back to that later, with a cloth and a big glass of whisky. 

He hurried out of the room, phone already pressed to his ear, ready to place their usual order at their favorite pizza place. When the elevator pinged and opened, he hesitated only for a moment.

It didn't matter. 

\---

"Mr. Stark! This is the coolest thing ever!"

Peter was grinning from ear to ear, holding a dripping piece of pizza in one hand and the glasses in the other.

Yeah?" Tony said, "I thought the head was holding that title?"

Peter wasn't even listening. He just went on and on about the features of the glasses, and Tony tried his hardest to focus on the warmth blossoming in his chest.

It didn’t matter.

\---

“It’s gonna rain. Gonna be uncomfortable down here, but not in my workshop. I’ve got more food upstairs, too.” Tony nodded at the empty pizza box at their feet.

_Have you ever thought about the press, Tony?_

“I swear, you’re gonna pull up in an ice cream van soon,” Peter said and Tony focused on the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, focused on anything but the nagging thoughts that had made themselves a home somewhere in the depths of his mind.

It did not matter.

\---

"And then I said, 'If he finds out we finished first, I'm going to be in _alkynes_ of trouble.’”

When Tony didn't laugh, Peter's toothy grin slowly slipped from his face. Hesitantly, he dropped his finger guns and cleared his throat. 

“Get it? Cause we were, like, in chemistry class and he really can't stand when someone's smarter than him - me, specifically- ”

"Is that kid bothering you? You'd tell me if - if anything was going on, right?"

\---

"Kid, it's pizza! You're not saying no to _pizza_!"

"First you have to tell me everything about your _coolest_ ever project that is _not_ Iron Man. My stomach, my rules!"

_Media bait, Tony. Media bait._

"It's blackmail! Blackmail!"

They laughed.

\---

_Like a trout. Like a fucking trout, Tony._

\---

_Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth_

Tony ran his fingers over a crack in the table. He found a weak spot, dug his nails into it and chipped off a loose piece of varnish. 

_Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, like a fucking trout_

Another loose piece, dig, chip, repeat. 

_Back and forth, back and forth, back and -_

"Tony? You with us?" 

Tony snapped his head up and stared into Steve's quizzical eyes. 

"Tony?" 

Tony picked up his whisky glass and took a big sip. "No, sorry. Nope. Not with you at all,” he said. 

Steve's eyebrows travelled all the way into his _perfect_ hairline.

Tony cleared his throat. "In fact, I'm so very much not with you that I spent the last fifteen minutes thinking about how strange it is that I'm one of the richest people in world - _really_ high up on the list, actually - and the furniture in my own conference room is still so goddamn terrible. Honestly, I'd be offended if I visited myself." 

"Tony," Steve said slowly for what Tony presumed was the third time, "We really need to think this through." 

“Do we? Not like there’s anything more we can do,” Tony said and raised his eyebrows to match Steve's, a silent challenge. 

“I know that’s how you think, Tony.” _Four times._ “You’ve made that quite clear. Ignoring phone calls, disappearing somewhere when I want to chat about strategy…”

Steve's voice was strangely soft, weirdly understanding. It infuriated Tony greatly. 

“Yeah, about that," he said and scoffed, "I don’t know about the others, but personally I like to spend parties with partying, not with boring myself to death.”

Romanoff coughed a little, covering up something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Steve sighed. “Tony, this is a big deal. We have to find the scepter, you know we do, and we can’t risk –“

“Tell you what, I’ve studied that base for _weeks_. I found all the weak spots we can hope to find. Anything beyond that, all your meticulous planning - that kinda doesn’t work with things like, you know, battles. Thought you’d be aware of that, Cap,” Tony cut in, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of whisky.

Steve drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. “It’s always better to have a plan to fall back on if things go south.”

“I’m with Tony,” Rhodey said, suddenly. “If things go south, they just go south. No plan will save us from that.” Tony shot him a thankful look.

Steve opened his mouth and closed it. He looked around the table. “Do you agree with that?” he asked. Romanoff nodded. Bruce shrugged. Clint didn’t react at all and Thor had excused himself from the meeting ten minutes ago.

Tony clapped his hands. “It’s settled then,” he announced and sprung to his feet. “I’m glad. Let’s do it Monday. Everyone hates Mondays. Can’t make them any worse.”

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking more confused than angry. “Why are you so enthusiastic? What happened to ‘Can’t a man catch a break?’”

_Fire under Pepper’s skin and ships over New York and have you ever thought about the press, Tony? Have you?_

Tony shrugged.

_Like a fucking trout._

“No time like the present,” he said.

He needed to fly.

\---

Tony pushed a piece of pizza in Peter’s direction.

They were sitting in the driveway again, huddled between the hedge and the trash cans, hidden from sight, Tony hoped. He should be upstairs, packing the things he didn’t want Pepper to pack – partly self-destructive, mostly Iron Man related and definitely secret. Two bottles of whisky were in there, too – expensive, strong and nothing Pepper needed to see.

Tony sighed. He watched Peter from the corner of his eye. The kid was bent over the tablet, his brow furrowed, a string of cheese hanging from his mouth. He was being uncharacteristically quiet and Tony wondered if, perhaps, they had finally hit an area that Peter didn’t grasp, at least not instantaneously.

Peter clicked his tongue and turned to look at him with those wide, brown eyes. “That’s how you did it,” he whispered. His face was glowing.

“That’s how I did it,” Tony confirmed.

Peter handed him the tablet. “That’s – wow. I read about it, of course. Who didn’t?”

Tony huffed out a laugh. _99.9% didn’t read about it, kid. Conservative estimate_.

“You created an element from scratch, Mr. Stark. That’s – that’s like the Sorcerer’s Stone! You’re totally bending the spoon!”

“You gotta stop with the pop culture references, Pete,” Tony said lightly, but, really, a deep sense of satisfaction unfurled in his chest. “Could show you all the simulations, kid,” he added, casually ignoring the suspicious look on Peter’s face. “You know, in my extremely cool lab.”

_Like a fucking trout._

He leaned forward, carefully eying the dark street, looking for - for a news van or whatever.

“Mr. Stark, sir,” Peter said, very quietly. Tony leaned back. “Mr. Stark, I appreciate it, really do. Just, I’m not coming up. I'm really sorry.”

The kid - wide eyes, bent head, furrowed brow - looked like he meant it, like his own words had hurt him, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to calm the frustration that was blooming in Tony’s heart.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked and he knew, _knew_ that there was too much bile in his voice, far too much.

The kid flinched terribly. Tony wanted to bite his own tongue off.

“It’s not your fault. It’s me, really. You know?” Peter murmured, uncertainly, picking at his fingernails.

“Can’t say I do,” Tony said and, _God_ , he needed to stop. “Really is a lovely place I got up there. Big. Airy. Nice view. All the cheese lover food. And tech. You like tech, don’t you?” He pulled three circuit boards from his pockets and tossed them into the kid’s lap. “There. Weren’t meant for you, but you might as well have them.”

Peter didn’t touch them, didn’t even look at them. He just worried at his bottom lip, took a deep breath and then another one and then another one and – “Mr. Stark, I’m really grateful.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Like, really, really grateful, but I don’t think, I don’t think you should give me any more … stuff.”

Tony didn’t understand. He did _not understand_ and not understanding wasn’t something he handled well. “Why’s that?” he asked stiffly, praying to who- or whatever was out there that the confusion hadn’t seeped into his voice.

“I sell them,” the kid said, so quickly and so quietly that Tony had to strain his ears to catch the words.

“You what?”

With a shuddering breath, the kid opened his eyes and glanced at Tony’s face, briefly and fearfully. “It’s what I do. I look for old tech, especially here where people are more, more well-off, and I fix it and I sell it on – on eBay.”

Tony mouth went dry. Blood, hot and furious, was pounding in his ears. “So, you’re telling me that you sold my stuff? That's what you’re telling me?”

The kid shrugged helplessly, shrinking further into himself, and, Lord, were those _tears_ in his eyes? Tears were another thing Tony did not handle well.

“I’m sorry,” the kid whispered, “I know you’re trying to help and I feel really bad about it, which is why I’m telling you now, because I know those were meant for me and no one really gives me stuff and I, like, really, really appreciate it because you’re Tony Stark and you’re so busy and –“

Tony held up a trembling hand and the kid fell silent. “You sold my stuff. You sold - I gave you Stark tech and you sold it on eBay?” His voice was dangerously low, barely more than a whisper. The kid dropped his gaze, his eyes brimming with tears and Tony _could not_ handle it. He got to his feet.

“Listen to me, kid. Actually, you know what? This should go without saying. This should be common sense. The camera? The circuit boards? Fine. Do your thing. Live out your dumpster diver dreams. Did you hurt my pride? Just slightly? Possibly, yes, but honestly – don’t care. No time. But the android? The software? That’s a different story, kid. And if you were a bit older, just a bit older, this right here would be _very_ different conversation.”

Tony knew that his eyes were gleaming with anger. He knew that he was radiating it and he knew, somewhere, deep down, that maybe, just maybe, he was pulling a Howard Stark on the kid, but it had been _his_ stuff. It had been _his_ trust.

_Like a fucking trout._

The circuit boards clattered to the ground as the kid scrambled to his feet, trembling and, _fuck_ , a tear slipped down his cheek.

Tony _could not_ handle it. He turned away. “Who bought them, kid?” he barked. He heard shuffling behind him, a sniffle, but the kid did not answer. “Who did you sell them to?” he repeated, enunciating every syllable, barely managing to keep his voice low, to keep himself together. A heartbeat, two. Tony clenched his fingers, dug his nails into his sweaty palms.

Then, finally, “Just – the highest bidder.”

The pressure in Tony's head became too much and, for a moment, he thought, no, he was certain that he was about to explode. “You ever thought about why I’m doing this?” he asked the empty driveway. Behind him, he heard the kid stiffen. “No? Let me enlighten you. I know talent when I see it and I saw it in you – _thought_ I did. Wanted to give you a nudge in the right direction, pull you out of the literal trash, you know, that kind of stuff.” It was a low blow, he knew that, but he could not handle any of this. He _could not_ handle it.

“I know –“ the kid whispered.

“Ah! Not done yet,” Tony snapped, “You ever thought about the press, kid? The risk I’m taking by freezing my ass off in the driveaway with you? You know what would happen if someone snapped a little picture of me with a boy in the driveway?”

(It would give Pepper a heart attack and Happy a stroke and Tony, well, he would not care enough. He never cared enough – usually didn’t have to with his mind, his reputation and his wealth.)

He raged on. “Nah, obviously you did not think about that. Obviously, you did not think. Maybe you just _want_ to end up in the news.”

The kid sucked in a shaky breath. “That’s not – that’s not true. I don’t want that, sir. I don’t want that. I just – I can’t get a job and I really, I really –“

Tony whirled around. “Of course, you can’t get a job! You’re 14. What kind of _asshole_ would give you a job?”

The kid froze. All color drained from his face.

_Fuck._

“You – you looked me up,” he whispered. “You looked me up.” He stumbled back, pressing his back against the garage gate, and stared at Tony with wild eyes. Tony felt searing anger rush through his veins, heard hot air wheeze in and out of his lungs, fast and uncontrolled. The kid had no right, no right, to look at him like that.

“Yeah, I did a quick little search on you. What did you expect, showing up in my driveway like that? You could have been a – a…”

_Runaway, addict, teenage delinquent. You could have been media bait._

“You had no right. No right!” Shakily, the kid stepped away from the garage gate, straightening his back and pointing a trembling finger at Tony. “You – I told you my name because you were nice. You’re Iron Man and you were _nice_ and I, I –“ The kid struggled for air, opened his mouth, closed it, without a word coming out.

But Tony didn’t need any words to know what the kid had meant to say.

 _And I trusted you. You were nice and I trusted you_.

“Yeah, feels bad, doesn’t it, kid?” Tony hissed. Red fury was bleeding into his vision.

“What else do you know?” the kid demanded. His face was ashen and his legs were shaking, but his mouth was drawn into a tight line. There was fire in his eyes. “ _What do you know_?”

Tony thought back to that day in the workshop, when he had wanted to do some digging, find everything there was on the kid. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it, to give that one, simple order. A mistake, he realized now. A mistake.

“Enough,” he said. The lie left a sweet taste on his tongue. “I know enough.”

The kid shook his head as though he couldn’t quite believe his ears, as though he didn’t want to. “I’m leaving,” he said flatly. “I’m – I’m leaving now.”

For one crazed second Tony wanted to grab him and shake him and tell him that he couldn’t just _leave_ like that, that he wasn’t allowed, but the kid pushed past him, undisturbed. He walked out of the driveway, his steps steady and his shoulders squared. On the main street, he started running, not looking back, not even once.

Tony watched him disappear behind the corner, heard his sneakers, those damned worn-down sneakers, slap against the asphalt and then, and then –

“Kid!” he called out, when it was already far too late, when the sound of the sneakers had long faded in the distance. There was no reply, of course not, no kid running back towards him, eyes brimming with tears and mouth filled with useless apologies. “Kid. _Kid_ ,” Tony whispered, rubbing his hand over his face, and then, finally, he shut up.

He stood alone in his dark driveaway, a greasy pizza box and three circuit boards scattered over the concrete. Desperately, he clung to the anger, buried somewhere deep in his chest, reminding him that the kid had had no right, _no right_ whatsoever, to speak to him like that, to just _leave_ like that.

Tony swallowed heavily, shaking his head. The anger fizzed, flickered and went out.

He looked at the black sky, cloudy and almost starless over the glowing city. He looked, silently, focused on a faint glimmer in the blackness, a plane or a lonely star; he wasn’t sure. He looked and looked and, for the first time in years, didn’t put up a fight, let himself be swallowed by ships hovering over New York and explosions ringing in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest with you. There are some things in this chapter I'm not super happy with. I might come back to it later, try to write the emotions a bit more naturally. Until then I hope you enjoyed nonetheless! 
> 
> As always, I'm happy to receive any constructive feedback you may have!


	4. Chapter 4

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

11:57.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

11:58.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

11:59.

The minute hand crawled over the clock face, unbelievably slow. Tony folded his hands under the duvet and twiddled his thumbs. One more minute and it would be –

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Midnight._

\- half an hour after Pepper’s usual bedtime and, where was she? What was taking her so long, today of all days? He closed his eyes, evened his breaths. He would wait. He would listen and wait.

The clock kept ticking, softly, steadily. The minute hand scratched over the digits and thoughts whirled in his mind, minute by minute by minute.

His eyes snapped open, hundreds of ticks and 10 minutes later, when he heard Pepper in the hallway, bare feet padding towards the bedroom. He turned his head and, through the haze of his mind, watched the door handle wiggle.

The hinges creaked and the door opened, bit by bit, until the dark bedroom was illuminated by a beam of warm light, in the middle of which Pepper was standing. She was wrapped in a silk bathrobe, looking like she was annoyed at three business partners, nervous about five extremely important phone calls, and just overall desperate to turn in for the night.

Tony waved at her.

Her jaw went slack. She wavered on her feet, shook her head, sighed and regained her composure.

“What’s going on?” she asked, padded towards the bed and slipped under the covers next to him.

“Nothing,” he said. “Wanna get the light?”

She propped herself up on one elbow and squinted at him. “Do I have to prepare for an ugly surprise when I check the news tomorrow? Am I about to get a panicked phone call from PR? Should _I_ be making panicked phone calls?”

Tony smiled softly. “Is it so hard to believe that I’m just tired?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

A strand of hair slipped out of her bedtime bun. He reached out to brush it behind her ear. “Sorry to disappoint, but I _am_ just tired.”

She didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, just kept staring at him with that suspicious look he both hated and adored. He wanted to smooth over the wrinkles on her forehead (the last time he had checked she had been twentysomething and how did time pass so quickly?) and his hands twitched, longing for her smooth skin under his fingertips, but he decided against it, offered a strained smile instead.

“I swear, I’ve been a good boy,” he said and smiled some more.

“Okay.” Pepper’s face relaxed.

“Okay?” he repeated unbelievingly because that had been way too easy.

“I’m just glad you’re actually sleeping,” she shrugged and rolled over to switch off the bedside lamp.

The room slipped into darkness. Tony’s heart sped up. He reached out, felt for her warm body next to him, found what he assumed were her shoulders and attempted to slip his arm around them. She lifted her upper body from the mattress, just a tiny bit, to make his job easier. Carefully, he pulled her into his chest. She was warm, alive and smelled just wonderful. With a sigh, he buried his nose in her hair and breathed.

She mumbled something into his chest.

“What?” he asked and pulled back to bring just the tiniest bit of space between them.

“I said, ‘we can’t sleep like this.’”

He tightened his arms around her and grumbled defiantly.

She chuckled. “Tony, I need to breathe.”

“Breathing is overrated,” he murmured, but he didn’t try to pull her back into his chest.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I kinda like it.”

Her hands found his face and cupped it. Tony closed his eyes, enjoyed her cool skin on his. Her calm breaths soothed his thundering heart, smothered the _tick tick tick_ of the clock and, slowly, he felt his mind slip away, felt his thoughts, impossibly heavy, sink to the ground.

“Tony,” she whispered when he was almost gone. “Tony, I just wish you would talk to me.”

His mind rebooted with a roar and his heart did something very complicated and very painful. He shook his head slowly, unable, unwilling to say anything, now that his thoughts had been pulled back up, now that everything was loud again.

She sighed. “I know. I know.” Her hands travelled up his cheeks, all the way into his hair. “But there's nothing I can do if you don't talk to me.”

He allowed her fingers to untangle his mind and steady his breathing, but he didn’t reply. He didn’t know how.

“Spooning?” she whispered after a few minutes of untangling and breathing.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. His voice felt rough and wet. “I think that would work.”

They shuffled around until she was curled into his chest, his arms encircling her, protecting, sheltering, holding on. He listened to her heartbeat, slow and steady, willed it to lull him to sleep and heard his thoughts getting louder and louder instead. The kid’s face, red and wet with tears, floated to the surface of his mind, explosions rang in the distance and something was opening up in the sky, something big and terrifying.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and waited. When Pepper’s breaths were deep and even, he gently pulled away and slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake her. His bare feet hit the floor. The cold slithered up his legs and the tiredness drained from his eyes.

Today was the day. Today he would fly.

\---

The scenery blurred together into a giant smear of color. The noise from the battle, the cheering of his teammates and the cries of their enemies vanished, drowned out by the roaring of the thrusters. Up here, the kid’s face, pale and hurt, did not stand a chance. The tension in the kid’s small shoulders, the horrified, furious look in his eyes, the fearful stammer coming out of his mouth – none of it could take off. None of it could leave the ground. It was stuck down there, together with Pepper’s worried side glances, so observant, picking up on the tremor in Tony’s voice and the steel in his eyes. Up here, Tony was flying.

With one, well-aimed shot, he took out the base’s energy shield. Relieved and triumphant cheers filled the intercom and he rushed on, burst into the base, took out enemies left and right, faster than he could blink, faster than even he could think.

To hell with the element of surprise. To hell with the energy shield that he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t anticipated after weeks and weeks of studying that map. To hell with the guilt rushing through his veins and the bitter taste of failure on his tongue.

“We have an enhanced in the field,” he heard Steve say over the intercom and it sounded like the others were in a bit of trouble down there, but Tony couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn back, not now, not when he was so close.

The last agent tumbled to the ground, shattered and broken, and triumph, warm and slick, unfurled somewhere in Tony’s chest. He stepped out of the suit, suddenly confident, invulnerable. This was it, he was sure, as he eyed the bodies on the floor. There were too many of them here for this to be just another unimportant room. No, this, Tony thought, and stepped over the shattered frame of a frighteningly baby-faced agent, had been the last, pathetic line of defense between him and the scepter. This was it.

“Jarvis, give me an IR scan of the room, would you?”

“The wall to your left, sir. I’m picking up steel reinforcement and an air current.”

Tony whirled around and scrutinized the wall – brick, ugly, seemingly ordinary, but Jarvis wouldn’t lie and, more than anything, Jarvis wouldn’t be wrong. Carefully, Tony stepped towards the wall, hoped that there was no complex mechanism he would have to figure out, no program he would have to hack into because the triumph was receding and he needed more _now_.

He traced the bricks, cool and rough under his fingertips, pushed and prodded, his heart somewhere in his throat, and yes – _y_ _es!_ – the wall gave in.

A stale smell greeted him, as he slipped into the hidden room ( _a secret lab, a secret lab, a secret lab!_ ), so excited to see inside, to finally find what he was looking for, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light he came to a stuttering halt. All air was forced out of his lungs.

It was huge, ginormous, unbelievable. Countless workbenches were filling the room. Robot carcasses were piling high and higher. Bits and pieces of his inventions – _his inventions_ – were scattered over the floor and – Tony swallowed heavily, fumbled for something to steady himself on. A Chitauri ship, colossal and otherworldly, was hanging from the infinitely high ceiling.

Tony watched the ship carefully, forced the images – _ships over New York, a portal, ripping open the sky_ – back where they belonged, back towards the outer edges of his mind.

Slowly, with small, steady steps and a thundering heart, he ventured further into the lab and scanned the scavenged pieces of equipment ( _his, his, his, so much of it was his_ ). He couldn’t help himself, had to crane his neck every other heartbeat to make sure the ship was still there, unchanged and unmoving. A tickle on his neck, a shudder in his spine almost forced him to contact the others, pull them out of the battle because he needed some help taking this in, the sheer size, the monstrosity, this vast, dimly lit mausoleum, built only to mock everything S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever stood for.

One more step and his itching fingers would have found the communicator. One more step was all it would have taken, when he saw it – a faint, blue glimmer, 10 meters away.

His heart picked up its pace, beating in the rhythm of triumph, sweet triumph, because he had found it. One step, another one, faster and faster he hurried towards the glimmer, couldn’t believe his eyes, could taste the buzz of power on his tongue. Two meters, only two meters, and he would hold it in his hands, would succeed, would be the one to deliver it to Thor and dissect it with Bruce. One meter – one short meter –

Fog clouded his mind and the scenery changed.

Tony heard a roar behind him, a low rumble, and whirled around, didn’t have time to wonder what had just happened, didn’t care because the Chituari ship wasn’t unchanged and unmoving anymore. No, it was drawing closer, racing towards him, its grotesque face distorted and dangerous and Tony was running, needed to get away, flee and tell the others because they had to get to work now, were running out of time and he needed to save, needed to save –

He stumbled to a halt, a thick something caught in his throat, no air in his lungs, not enough neurons to comprehend, to understand what was lying in front of him. It couldn’t be.

Bruce, Steve, Rhodey – they were not here. They were in the forest, chasing agents, winning. They had _won_.

It couldn’t be.

A wet, pathetic sound escaped Tony’s throat and he stepped closer to the pile of bodies in front of him, shattered frames, burnt flesh, blood on Rhodey’s face – the face Tony had grown up with – loose flesh hanging from Thor’s broken chest, Hulk’s legs, bent and broken, Hulk – the strongest Avenger – and, oh God – Tony stumbled forward, almost fell, the roaring of the ship long forgotten because somehow, _somehow_ he was already too late and Steve – Steve, blue eyed, blond haired, _perfect_ Steve, was lying in front of him, motionless.

Tony’s shaking fingers found Steve’s neck, fumbled for a pulse that had to be there, _had_ to be, and not finding anything, nothing but cool, dead flesh and, no, Tony shook his head furiously, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be because Steve was outside. He wasn’t here, couldn’t be here, but, God, he had no pulse, no pulse. He was dead and Tony was too late, always, always, always –

Something cold and slick grabbed Tony’s forearm and he flinched back, terror twisting his heart, a scream stuck in his throat. The kid’s brown eyes – the kid’s brown, bloodshot eyes met his.

No. _No_.

Tony grabbed the kid’s arms, wet with _something_ , tried to pull him to his feet because he had to be okay, had to be, and what was he even doing here? How was it possible? What did it mean? Would Tony ( _no, no, no_ ) spot Pepper, too, if he looked closely, among the broken bodies, and if she was here, if she was –

The kid coughed, a disgusting, painful sound and blood spluttered out of his mouth onto his silly, washed-out graphic shirt.

_No._

The kid’s eyes bulged. His lips, pale and torn, formed silent words.

“You could have – you could have saved us.”

Tony tightened his grip on the kid’s arms, wanted to say something, anything to make this better, make this right, but he couldn’t because he was too late, was too late –

“Why didn’t you do more?” the kid whispered, his voice hoarse and pained, and a gust of dark blood spilled over his chin.

Tony looked around, frantically, looked for Steve and Rhodey and Pepper, for _someone_ he could help because the kid had gone slack in his arms, his eyes vacant, and Tony couldn’t deal with it, didn’t know what to do, was too late, too late, too late, again.

The roaring grew louder and Tony jerked his head up, stared and stared, over the bodies and the despair, saw a hole in the atmosphere, saw the earth lying behind it, helpless, unprotected, _naked_. He watched the giant, roaring Chitauri ship join the ranks of countless others, helplessly watched them slip through the hole, towards earth, naked, _naked_ –

He gasped. Air rushed into his lungs and he was on his feet before he could understand, before he could fully comprehend that the bodies and the ships were gone. Frantically, he whirled around, stumbled, looked for a sign of the destruction that had burnt itself into his mind. The lab was empty and quiet. No bodies, no ships, no hole in the sky.

Tony’s heart was still racing in his chest. His fists were still clenched and adrenaline was pumping through his veins, but the fog was gone and a fresh kind of terror was tugging at his heart. He scanned the room, looking for the something – the _someone_ – who had done this to him, who had weakened him, distracted him –

But, no, the sceptre was still there, right in front of him, and no one was to be seen, no shadow, no silhouette.

He had to be quick. Whoever it was, they had lost the element of surprise. Tony was prepared. No matter his racing heart and the rush of blood in his ears, he would not fall for it again. He would not be this stupid again. He would be faster this time. He would be the first.

He stumbled towards the scepter, the triumph gone, replaced with panic and despair. A twitch of his finger later and the gauntlet formed around his arms and – he had to be quick, had to hurry – he grabbed the scepter by the handle.

No rush of power flooded his veins. Nothing but the cold knowledge that they needed this, desperately, more than they could have ever known, filled his heart. His eyes flickered up and found the spot that, just moments ago, had been ripped open by a giant portal, a brutal fleet.

He swallowed the panic, tightened his grip on the scepter and planted his feet more firmly on the ground because who else was there to do it?

\---

This was it.

Tony ruffled his hair in silent disbelief and had to steady himself on his workbench. The carcass of the scepter, empty and powerless, was discarded on the floor. He didn’t need it anymore, no one did, because he had cracked its secret and ripped out its heart, now floating in front of him, an enormous and blinding network, pulsating, expanding, growing, breathing, _thinking_.

Tony shook his head in awe, in triumph. His heart was thumping in his chest, almost painfully, because this was it. This was _everything_. This was beyond revolutionary, beyond brilliant, even; a galactic game changer, a cosmic miracle. Jarvis, poor old Jarvis, Tony’s pride and joy – he was nothing compared to this. He was tiny, simple, _dumb_.

Ultron – and Tony couldn’t believe, couldn’t comprehend it – was so much more, more than Jarvis, more than Tony, more than humanity itself. He was a network of possibilities, a map of firing neurons and sparking synapses, an ode to the future.

Banner needed to see this. Together they would clothe the world, build an armor around it, an impenetrable shield, surrounding everything – New York, Pepper and that damn kid. Together, nothing would stop them. Banner and him, their minds united, they would make sure that Tony’s hallucinations were just that – hallucinations. No visions, not even inklings or weird predictive dreams.

Everything – the prophecy, the future, the goddamn messiah – was floating in front of Tony, was being birthed in the middle of his home. 

He took a shaky step back to take in the full magnitude of the wonder hovering, pulsing, buzzing in his lab. This would make sure that ships over New York and holes in the sky would remain a memory; painful, yes, but forever locked into feverish nightmares, quickly snuffed with a sleeping pill (or two) and a big glass of whisky.

He just hoped they would get it to work.

\---

And Ultron did work alright.

From a scientific viewpoint he really was the messiah, Tony thought, as he helplessly watched Novi Grad rise higher and higher. It was just that the world’s newfound God was wildly homicidal, thoroughly narcissistic, and absolutely bonkers. It was just that God’s wrath had freed itself from the confines of magic mushroom inspired bible chapters, had slipped into the world and become very, very real.

Tony watched the eschatological battle unfold in front of him, listened to the screams of people mourning their homes and their loved ones, of people losing their lives, their everything. He saw the city fall from the sky, saw the exhausted, horror-stricken faces of his teammates and made a decision.

Lightning, explosions and flames, the city crumbling and burning, drowning and disappearing.

Tony inhaled fire and smoke and watched the ripples in the water smooth over. 

\---

The aftermath was brutal.

Tony was staring at the screen in front of him, an endless night-time search for every last article and radio show and YouTube video he could get his hands on. He needed to know. They all needed to know.

_… 170 lives lost and counting. The situation in Novi Grad is catastrophic. Thousands are without a home …_

Tony’s eyes flickered towards the monitor on his right. The driveway was as dark and empty as it was meant to be at 4am in the morning and Tony hadn’t expected anything else, was exhausted, so exhausted, but couldn’t sleep because he needed to know. He needed to know. A flick of his finger, the next headline, the next video, the next show.

_… In the early morning hours, the president of Sokovia appealed to the United Nations. “Those responsible for this destructive attack must be held accountable.” …_

And anyway, sleep meant seeing things, new things. Ships over New York, explosions at his expo and fire under Pepper’s skin – it had all been replaced by something impossibly worse. Even the image of the dead, etched on Tony’s mind for all of eternity, had changed. He wasn’t just a bystander anymore, not just useless and helpless, not just _alive_. No, disfigured creations, grotesque and deformed, were breaking away from his mind and there was something dark and slick on his hands and – a flick of his finger.

_… This is far from the first time that an Avengers-initiated operation caused catastrophic collateral damage. The world is asking: Can the Avengers still protect us? …_

Tony fumbled for the half empty whisky bottle. He took a sip and then another one and then another one, holding on to the burning in his throat and the blurriness in his vision.

_… I’m telling you; the Avengers are out of control. Stark provides them with weapons and, I mean, look at that man’s history…_

Two more sips.

 _They should try it_ , he thought. The little smartasses from the Daily Bugle and the Newsday and the fucking Wall Street Journal should try it. They should join forces with TrevorTheToad and CheezeLuver2656 and SolutionRevolution1953 and all the other idiots spamming the comment section on their damned websites. Together, they should travel back in time and see if they could stop that city from tumbling down because Tony would bet everything he owned, everything he loved, that they couldn’t.

_… There is no doubt: The Avengers initiative has failed …_

_Failed._

Anger, cold, all-consuming fury, clouded Tony’s mind. He tightened his grip on the whisky bottle.

_Failed._

The world needed the Avengers, now more than ever. The world needed Tony, his mind, his skill, his wealth, because who knew what was coming next? Who knew which crazy terrorist or alien warlord would pay them a visit in the foreseeable future?

A flick of his finger.

Fresh headlines, articles, video clips, blog posts were dancing through the darkness, taunting him and, he stared at the monitor to his right, the driveway – the damn driveway was still empty.

Heat travelled down his spine. The muscles tensed in his arms and he watched himself throw the bottle across the room. Glass shattered. Amber liquid spilled over the floor, undoubtedly ruining one fragile invention or another. _Good_ , Tony thought and breathed in the detestable smell of strong alcohol. _Good_.

But the satisfaction was short lived. The burning in his throat was threatening to recede and his hands felt empty without the bottle. More and more headlines were filling the screen, never-ending, circling his mind, blurring into one.

_Irresponsible. Dangerous. Out of Control. Failure._

He should have thrown something else – a circuit board or that damned monitor – because he needed something to drink _now_ , for his fight against the headlines and the lump in his throat. Perhaps he should stumble into the kitchen, get more, get more, _get more_ , but he could feel his insides churning dangerously just at the thought of moving and if he stained Pepper’s carpet again, God, if Pepper caught him ravaging the kitchen cabinets at 4am… God, Pepper, Pepper, Pepper – _Pepper_!

The world slipped in and out of focus as he slowly, cautiously turned his head to stare at the dark figure in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” he slurred. His tongue was thick and heavy and he wondered sluggishly for how long she had been standing there, how much she had seen.

She stepped out of the shadow, a fuzzy silhouette, and padded towards him, bare feet on the cold tiles of the lab floor.

“I’m looking for the guy who is supposed to be in bed with me. A suspicious noise told me he might be here.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen him,” Tony replied and swallowed heavily because her voice was not as warm as he had hoped and because there was bile threatening to rise up his throat.

Pepper was close now, less than a meter away. He could smell her shampoo, mixed with a faint trace of nightly sweat. She leaned against the workbench next to him.

“He’s been missing for days now. I think he’s avoiding me,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and staring at him with the kind of appraising, calculating look that was usually reserved for unruly business partners.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to hold her close and stroke her hair and whisper into her ear and tell her that he was sorry, so sorry, and that everything would be alright. Alternatively, he would like a drink, but his only bottle was shattered on the floor and he really, really should have thrown the monitor instead. _The monitor_.

Pepper was hiding it from his view and what if, right now and in this very moment, at 4am, the kid decided to show up, hungry, cold, bleeding and what if Tony missed it?

“Tony?” Pepper asked. Her voice was marginally softer. “What are you doing down here?”

He _really_ wished he had a drink, yearned for a sip of ice-cold whisky to slide down his raw throat and free him from the obligation to answer.

“I’m thinking we should start a charity,” he said, because it felt right and because he was drunk. “For disadvantaged youth or something.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “We have two charities for disadvantaged youth.”

He shrugged. “Three’s the charm.”

Pepper’s nostrils flared. “That’s – Tony, you need to stop.”

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, and, really, at this point he’d even take vodka.

“You know what. Drowning your feelings.”

Cheap vodka. Pruno. Disinfectant. “Not drowning anything,” he muttered.

Pepper sighed. “Just – try to feel it.”

“I am. I’m feeling it,” he said. To prove his point, he closed his eyes, leaned back and took an obnoxiously deep breath.

“Are you now?”

“Absolutely.” He placed a hand on his chest. “Feeling so many things right now.”

Pepper hummed. “And what is it you’re feeling?”

He paused. _Tired? Exhausted? Thirsty?_ “A tingling. Right here.” He poked his chest. “Oh, it’s rising up now.”

“Mm. You sure that’s not your dinner?”

“I know what it is! Love and appreciation for my beautiful girlfriend,” he said, cringing at the slur in his voice. Carefully, he cracked open one eye to see if she was at least rewarding his efforts with a smile. She wasn’t.

“You need to sleep,” she said. Her tone left no room for argument.

He groaned. “Sorry, but I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“Oh?” Pepper asked and her eyebrows disappeared in her hairline. “What could that be? Brooding? Smashing bottles?” She turned her head and gave the monitor behind her a disapproving look. “Or did you fire Happy and now you have to take care of your own security?”

“He deserved it,” Tony said, trying to play along. He could already feel a headache forming behind his skull.

“Did he now?” Pepper asked and Tony would have loved to reply with a made-up story about Happy’s equally made-up wrongdoings, but there was something in Pepper’s eyes, something that Tony didn’t like at all. He sat up a little straighter and ordered his head to stop spinning.

“He told you,” he said.

Pepper didn’t try to deny it. “A while ago, actually.”

If Tony’s stomach hadn’t been churning, if there had been a bit more air in his lungs, he would have gotten up and – paid Happy a visit then and there. But his stomach was churning and his lungs were empty, so he stayed seated and glared at Pepper instead.

She shrugged as though this wasn’t a big deal. “He was worried,” she said.

“Funny. Never thought doing good would worry people,” Tony spat, trying to keep his tongue straight and his words clear.

Pepper didn’t reply. Instead, she shuffled closer towards him, until her knees brushed his side and he could hear her calm, even breaths. Silently, she placed a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“60 thousand,” she said. 

Tony shot her a quizzical glance.

“Current number of homeless people in New York. Around 25 thousand of them are kids.”

“I don’t –“ he stammered, but Pepper, the only person who was allowed to do that, interrupted him.

“125.000 in the US. Want to know the global estimate?”

He shook his head. Inside him the whisky sloshed around threateningly. “The kid’s not homeless. That’s not what this is about.”

Pepper nodded seriously. “You want to know the child poverty statistics? I’m sure they are more optimistic.”

He scoffed. “I’m not – I don’t think I will magically cure world hunger. That’s not what this is about!”

“I know it’s not. You don’t think you can fix something as simple as world hunger. You think you can fix everything.” The hand on Tony’s shoulder tightened. “You can’t, Tony. You’re one man.”

 _She doesn’t understand_ , Tony thought. _She just doesn’t get it_. “I wasn’t gonna take in 125.000 kids or anything. I wanted a charity to do it.”

There was a difference there and he was sure Pepper could see it. He wasn’t naïve. He knew he couldn’t drive his Audi around the world and save children from starvation. Hell, he knew that even Iron Man wasn’t enough to protect the planet. He just needed to create something that was.

“A charity isn’t going to fix it either, Tony,” Pepper said, gently. Her fingers were picking at the hem of his shirt. “Throwing money at things won’t fix them.”

But she was wrong about that, Tony thought. With the right budget, the right equipment and the right thinking, he would be able to find a cure for – he’d be able to find _the_ cure. _If not money, then what, Pepper?_ If not him, then who?

“You don’t have to fix everything.” Pepper’s voice was unbearably soft, unbearably understanding, unbearably _naïve_.

Tony stared at her with wide eyes.

_Why didn't you do more?_

There always was something he missed, something more he could have done, always, and he wanted to tell her that, wanted to tell her that his life wouldn’t be wasted, that his money, his suit, his mind meant that he was responsible, obligated, even, to do something, to smooth out all the creases in the world, no matter how big or small.

“Yeah, I beg to differ,” was what he said instead. His voice was light and breezy, but his heart was pounding and his chest was buzzing and no, it was not his dinner.

“Tony –“

“Tell you what,” he said loudly, “I’m wondering, if everyone has their panties in a twist because of me, why’d you wait so long to lecture me? I thought Mr. Gossip Girl chose treason 'a while ago'.”

Pepper’s fingers stilled on his shoulder. “You’re an adult,” she said simply.

“But?” Tony asked, because, oh no, she wasn’t fooling him.

“But you’re drunk at 4am. And you’re spying on your own driveway.”

Tony huffed a humorless laugh. “That?” he asked, nodding at the monitor, “That is not the problem.”

 _It’s the solution. It’s the solution_.

“No,” Pepper said and her smile was sad, so terribly sad. “It’s not the problem. It’s a symptom.”

He rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling beneath his skin, but she didn’t pay him any mind.

“Come to bed,” she whispered.

Her fingertips brushed over his collarbone. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine and, for a moment, he stopped, considered. He knew how Pepper would calm his heartbeat and soothe his thoughts, if only for a while. He remembered her weight in his arms, how she felt, how she smelled. He looked into her blue eyes and she looked back, soft, pleading.

His gaze flickered towards the monitor, dark and empty. _No._

“Can’t,” he croaked and it _hurt_.

She licked her lips, as though she wanted to say something and decided against it. Her fingers left his shoulder. He felt empty and cold and wanted to reach out, clasp her arms, pull her back, but she was already out of his reach and his lungs were empty.

In the doorway, she turned around one last time. “Tony,” she said. “I’m not waiting forever.” He watched her leave in silence, listened to her bare feet pad down the hallway because what else was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?

He waited until the sound of her footsteps died down and a door clicked shut, somewhere far, far away. Slowly, he heaved himself to his feet, grasped the table and counted to 200, waited for the world to stop spinning. He needed something now.

He staggered towards the door, stopped every now and then to give his head a break and to calm his breathing. When the door slid open, he stumbled into the hallway, steadying himself on the walls. He was being noisy, tripping over carpets, knocking over expensive vases, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because he needed something now, now, _now_.

In the kitchen, he sunk to his knees and yanked open the cabinet. His stock was untouched and beautiful.

He grabbed a fresh bottle of whisky, unscrewed it and took a pull. The familiar warmth returned to his chest. He sighed with relief, leaned heavily against the cabinet, took another sip and pressed his forehead against the mouth of the bottle. The glass was pleasantly cool on his hot skin.

In a few hours the headache, already burning behind his eyes, would undoubtedly kill him. In a few hours. For now, he was going to drink and breathe and enjoy the slightly unreal edge the world had taken on.

When he fell asleep, slumped against the cabinet, head on his chest, he dreamed of the kid, choking and bleeding, screaming for help in the driveway.

It was a ridiculous dream, he thought, a few hours later, when the whisky had spilled over his shirt and the headache had overpowered his senses.

“I’m leaving,” the kid had said and he was not coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading and sorry this is late. I've been (and still am) insanely busy, so there also hasn't been much time for editing. I might come back to it later, just to make things flow a bit better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter will be up within the next two weeks. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of my writing and the story line so far. I always appreciate constructive criticism :).
> 
> Have a lovely day and, hopefully, see you soon!


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